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Duilin stood up, stumbled towards a couch, and then stumbled and fell. Idril panted, and pulled off her mail. She seemed to gasp for breath, as if the light elven mail had been a heavy coat of steel. She looked upon Duilin, he wore no armor, and his chest seemed to fall inwards. His mouth was open, and Idril put her ear to his lips.

"Maeglin is a thrall of Morgoth. The presence of his servants has caused him to put back his collar. Farewell princess."

Tears streamed down her face. "Farewell" she whispered. Then her face seemed to grow stern, and she donned once again her shirt of mail, and turned to Ëarendil.

"We must hide, for Morgoths army is mighty indeed, and shall destroy us. We shall wait for Tuor's return and then escape to the tunnel."

The watchers before the secret gate of the Dry River were alerted of a dull  thudding and chanting  ahead of them. Then finally the hideous heads of two behemoth dragons pulled into view. The dragons were covered with plates of iron  and steel rings of chain. On their foul heads were  helms that covered their entire skull. Only their snake eyes were not covered and they blinked in the fading sunlight. The archers jumped out of  eyesight behind rocks and boulders, and they each took long thought out defensive positions. Behind the Uruloki, were legions of Werewolves and orcs, nearly ten thousand strong. Then Turgon received a messenger from the guard hearing of the host from Angband, the pits of hell. Then with a great cry of "Utulie'n aure! Aiya Eldalie, utulie aure!" Then the banner of the house of Fingolfin and Turgon were lifted up and Turgon cried with a Great voice:"Auta i lome!" Then they charged towards the secret gate as sunset at last dwelt under the peaks of the Crissaegrim. The Dragons saw them coming and reared back to destroy them. Then suddenly the archers let their shafts fly. They drove straight threw the eyes of the fire breathing beasts. More arrows were let loose. Orcs and werewolves were left stricken upon the battle field. And then Turgon and Ecthelion with the thunder of noise as if Orome had come descended upon the creatures of Morgoth.

Walls hard as adamant were rent asunder by the might of a dragon. Werewolves and orcs poured forth, arrows fell like rain. The elves marched forth, their gear shining like mirrors. They met at the torn gates, and the sound of steel upon steel filled the air. The elves were standing firm, the host could not move them. Then the dragon reared high, and belched forth fire and death. The elves broke, bending, the armies of Morgoth pressed ever further forwards. Then from side streets, and from houses and from the wreckage of the walls, and from the towers came the might of Gondolin. Ecthelion with Tuor and Glorfindel charged bravely, arrows came in endless clouds, the dragon was surrounded. Long was his tail, strong was his hide, death came sizzling from his mouth. But Glorfindel prevailed, and leapt upon his head, then came the death blow, long was the lance of Ecthelion, deep it pierced into the eye of the dragon.

"Light does not fear the dark! Get thyselves gone from my sight, servants of Morgoth."

Then came from the mountains not a red dawn, but a black night. The Balrogs came, dragon-riding, with hosts uncountableble.

Struggling with the terrible hosts of Morgoth, found Ecthelion covered in the gore of his enemy. He slashed downwards as his sword beheaded three orcs with one blow. Then cam a scarlet fire, Balrogs, the chief servants of the wicked lord Bauglir, came into view. Seventeen in all. They cam and wrought destruction upon Turgon's forces, Arrows twanged, bodies were thrown aside, and still the evil army drew on. Glorfindel moved to one knee, and loosened his spear. It gored a dragon threw the heart, gushing out its foul blood all over the stones. Turgon sliced his way this way and that, and saw that the balrogs were unstoppable. Then the two hosts stopped, and silence reigned. Gothmog, Lord of The Balrogs, slayer of Feanor and Finon burst threw with a fell voice.Tuor turned and all hope died in his heart,for the Eldar could slay as many orcs and dragons, but against the corrupted maiar spirits, the Elves would be defeated.Gothmog burst threw with fire and sword, slaying dozens with two blows. His troll guard was shot down, but his cohorts of fire demons waved unstoppable destruction in their wake. Turgon turned about. cleaving the bodies of eight orcs in halves."Ectthelion sound the call to fall back to Gondolin while we still have the strength!" Ecthelion and Glorfindel hacked into their foes and Ecthelion sounded the horn of Gondolin.

Duilin opened his eyes. Breath came as a fire in his lungs.

"Idril? Ëarendil? Am I now alone on my death bed? But I shall not die."

He reached for a cup next to his couch. Before his hand moved two feet he fell into darkness.

The king looked over his city. Fire rose, and the smell of singed flesh was in the air. He turned to his advisor

"How many Balrogs do you count?"

"No more than 7, but maybe as few as 3 my liege."

"Can you not count? How many, give me a specific answer!!!"

"Definitely not 17 my liege."

said another advisor

"I count 7"

"I count 5"

"Strange" said the king, "I count 6"

The Elves left piled of dead in their path, but all around the walls of Gondolin swarmed the forces led by Gothmog. Now they retreated in their walls as they opened, and those outside continued to fight outside. Ecthelion, before the gates shut, had slain two werewolves that were threatening the king. But after that the few thousands left shut the gates and left more than a few to die against a hopeless struggle. Glorfindel ordered the archers to loose their last shafts before the enemy went in inside. Not a single orc or demon reached the courtyard alive. "Craven adversary, the Eldar shall burn with their city," screamed Gothmog." Now, my cohorts breach the puny Gate!"

The Balrogs advanced, unstopable forces of destruction. The gates were rent apart by dragons. As endless as the tides came the orcs. Then came Turgon, high and proud. His guard shone, his helm was seen by the elves, and a cry went up. They charged, and the Balrogs faltered and ran. Orcs were hewn running, but dragons unafraid withered many. Then werewolves and orcs came, stronger in stature than before. Glorfindel found the king, untouched by the blood of orcs though he slew many. "You must return to your tower." "I came to bring death to my enemies. They shall know that my terror awaits them at the tower. Farewel." The elves were beaten ever further back. The Balrogs returned, as great shadows came they and none stood before them. The horn of Ecthelion blasted loud, and he led a hopeless charge. The orcs fell, and dragons were slain, but the Balrogs stood firm. Those few who had not taken part in the charge looked in horror upon their friends, who now were encircled with foes, fire flung upon them. A number beat their way out,the heroes of Gondolin, ragged and tired, forced their way back. All gathered in the town square. Gothmog stood before them, flanked by dragons. Tuor moved for them, but Ecthelion restrained him. Wrath was on his face, and fire was in his eyes. "We have met before. I shall have my revenge."

Here ends Part Two. Part Three shall be started shortly.

                                          Part Three :The Tide Roars

 

            Fires rolled and licked through the fortress city of Gondolin as dragons  blasted around and over the walls of Gondolin. Inside, the inhabitants were searching for a haven. But at that moment Idril, in distress came and went to Tuor, her husband." Please, we must tell the people about the passage," said Idril. 

"Yes, my beloved, make haste, and i will die as one of these valiant Elves."

He embraced her and said:" Give my son Earendil hope, and flee with a company of the Guards!"

Ecthelion was turning and avoiding the rubble rallying the troops as Turgon directed orders at the once magnificent courtyard of Marble when he saw through the reckage Tuor and Idril. He adressed them and commanded Tuor not to leave his spouse and child and  lead the survivors to new dwellings at the Falas. Tuor pleaded to stay, but Ecthelion would not budge in his counsel. So the two Captains said a grim farewell as Gondolin was about to be breached, Ecthelion would soon meat the most terrible servant and demon of the Bauglir: Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs.

Duilin woke once more. He was blessed with the swift healing of his people, but even so his wounds were still grievous. He reached for the cup on the table again, and found it as he had thought. Miruvor, drink of the elves. Strong was the enchantment which lay upon it, for it was brewed of old in Valinor, ere Morgoth was released from the halls of Mandos. He drank deep, until the cup was drained, and then he stood, and, with his sword as a crutch, crossed the room to the window. Below raged the fires of war. His heart went out to Idril, whom he saw all to near the front speaking with Tuor, and to Ecthelion, who he saw facing a foe thrice his size and burning with rage. But most of all for a young elven maid who he had befriended, and had spoken with not more than a day before. He watched as the orcs closed in from all sides, pushing ever closer to the square, dragons rage filled rent towers as though they were sand. 

"Mithrellas!"

He shouted, and she turned for a moment, as though she had heard him from afar, but by an evil twist of fate even as she turned an orc crept from a house nearby. She saw him not until to late, and was hewn down with a look of horror upon her face. Duilin collapsed, the pain of shouting burning in his chest, yet it could not compare with his rage. He stood, and would have cast himself out the window then if voices were not heard behind him.

"Good loot in this tower if I'm not mistaken."

"Your always mistaken you fool!"

They fell to bickering, but did not stop drawing nearer. Duilin could barely stand, tears filled his vision at the sight of his city burning and his comrades dying. Then he saw for a moment the face of Ecthelion far below. Wrath was upon it, and wrath came upon Duilin. His pain was a distant memory, and he hid himself in the armory until the voices came to close. Orcs they were, and they wore no helmets. Thus it was that Duilin felled them both before either could blink, for week though he was with sadness and pain he thrust daggers into their eyes.

"Ecthelion!" He shouted, and the orcs fell before him. With his last strength failing, he fell upon the couch.

Fires raged unquenchable, and death was thrown upon many a elf and a Orc. The dwarf still locked inside his dungeon was filled with terror as the flames advanced and started to lick the side of the open door. A black Urloki, dived it's hideous head inside the citadel and roasted the dwarf who screamed as he was incinerated. Ecthelion raced towards Glorfindel, whose long braided hair was covered in gore, and spoke to him in haste."Lead your remains of your company with Tuor, for he will have need for your valiant endeavors." Glorfindel weary, still was obstinate.

"Yes my Liege, i will go and you will help Turgon fight to the death. I do not wish that, but may the wind of Manwe stay upon thee, farewell."

The elves were driven back slowly, the Balrogs unstoppable pushed forwards through warriors tall and strong. The swords of the elves glowed bright blue, and from the host came light as a star of Varda. But the Balrogs of Morgoth overshadowed them. No force on either side was ever again as mighty as on that day. Dragons, and Balrogs, and orcs uncountable, and werewolves, and shades of death. Mighty coils of fire and steel, all faced the elves, terrible in their wrath.

The streets were filled with bodies, the bodies were set afire, the elven host faltered before their enemies. It seemed that none could stand without being driven down. Elves fled, their shield-wall breaking. Before the tower they gathered again, before the fountains they stood. Each in his heart knew that this was the day when death would come, and all prepared to sell their lives dearly. The black tide drew back, afeared were they of the kings return. Then they descended upon the elves, who now stood strong. Even the least of those who remained would fight on even after suffering many wounds. For long the tide of Morgoth gained not a single step upon the elves, standing hard and strong. In this time many escaped, led by Idril, to the hole which long had been built in secret.

That day even the lowliest of the city took up arms and fought with wrath. All things resisted the taking of the city, and the knowledge of their fate should they be captured urged those inside to fight with all their being. Finally the servants of Morgoth gained ground, but even the hottest flame of the dragons could not cause those who stood before the tower to falter. The kings guard were they, greatest in stature and in strength, longest in the practice of the sword. For war they trained endlessly, and the servants of Morgoth they did not fear. Even the Balrogs could not advance, and felt as though the elves were a mighty wall of iron, but this wall bit them, and the bites were long and terrible. Turgon himself stood at the stairs of the tower, and shot arrows which found always some chink in armor.

But none even of that host could fight past death. As wounds claimed those who stood strongest, those who were weakest looked upon them and wished to live. Then Ecthelion threw himself upon the enemy, alone of all the elves advancing, though now a gap had come between the hosts. He seamed almost to wish to end his life. He was surrounded, and blows landed upon him. The armor of the Noldor in those days could not be pierced save with the mightiest of blows, and though many times he was struck he seamed imperious even to fire. Others joined him, the captains of the guard who were themselves so mighty. Then all that host began advancing, and their enemies fled before them. Even to the gates of the city did the elves drive the servants of Morgoth.

"Have we yet hope for victory?" Ecthelion shouted.

"Yes!" Answered the elves as one.

"Flame of the Valar, i command thee!" said Turgon. Blue Fire reached up the edge of his sword Glamdring, as he held it aloft, He rushed the first Balrog that came through the piles of dead creatures. As the demon swung it's whip of many coils, Turgon leaped and rolled to the side. With a backhand stroke, he gutted the Balrog in the core of his fiery heart. It gave a earsplitting roar, and then fell over. The elves charged driving their enemies back towards the outer city. Then Gothmog and his cohorts developed and cut off the guards of turgon, and thus the noble king was surrounded by a sea of fire and shadow. Dragons came by, blasting  the help of other guards as they came to stand by Turgon. Ecthelion sawed through one brute of a orc and then another. Then dozens more. Then a Urloki stalked the ground in front of him, and two more hissed as they crawled up. Ecthelion rolled under the sheet of intense flame as it singed the top of his helm He plunged the dragon in the eye and slashed the throat of another. Black blood poured forth and barely did Ecthelion escape it's acidic touch. The other dragon was shot in the eye by a archer sentinel. "But were is our king," though Ecthelion?

Turgon was surrounded by the armies of Morgoth. Then all withdrew save the Balrogs. Six there were, and one lay smitten beside Tugon. He wrenched his sword from its corps, and as he did the Balrog crumbled and faded. A shadow lay still upon the ground, though now the sun was near fading. Then suddenly Turgon laughed, and stood to his full height.

"If this be the only way to Valinor, then so be it"

He made as if to attack, but thongs of fire entraped him. The Balrogs stood motionless, their fires the only sound. The battle seemed to rage far away, and all save the Balrogs grew dim and shadowed. The sun seemed to go out, and long shadows were cast by the fires, which now seemed not so bright as before. Long streams of shadow reached out, and formed a dome encasing Turgon and the Balrogs together within. A dim laughter filled the air, and the fires went out entirely. Turgons sword still blazed with a fire of its own, but no longer could Tugon see beyond a few feet.

"Where are the Valar now? Only one shall you know, we are his emissaries, and our message is death."

The wounded and the stricken who could be recovered by the Elves were taken to the secret path. Ecthelion and his cohorts were now being crushed and the overrun mode had reached it's limit. "Fight! Fight to the last!" said Ecthelion. Werewolves surrounded him as he tried to reach his king as the Balrogs began to beat upon the shield. Turgon, with wounds thrice, fell under a crushing blow as the son of Fingolfin fell under the oppressive Oath of Feanor. The blood fell freely, and Gothmog threw the noble king into the destruction. Leaderless, the armed forces of Gondolin  were being overwhelmed. Ecthelion, seeing Glamdring on the marble, ran under the legs of a Demon and caught it by the hilt. Calling another, he gave it to him and bid him to reach and bar the passage with haste. Seeing Turgon in the wake of death, he came to him, and these were the last words of Turgon, the High King." My son, the Irmo's curse has come true. But do not be troubled my son, for of son you have become of me now. May the the Valar bless thee. Go in peace."

And so the last defenses were swept out of existence, through the rubble and the death, strode Ecthelion to meat his most terrible foe. As if walking in slow motion everything slowed down. The killing, the leaping flames, the marble falling, and Gothmog, Lord and Regent of Bauglir. The intense Heat poured sweat down Ecthelion's brow, as he met the Demon. Gothmog reared back, his fourteen foot frame hunched over the shining figure of the valiant Elda. " Turgon!" yelled Ecthelion, as he charged with sword in hand. Gothmog swung his ax, to late. The brave Elf had jumped on the flaming head of the Balorog king. Crying in distress, Gothmog cuffed him off with his gauntlet. Ecthelion's sword broke as he fell underneath it. Gothmog taunted him before the death blow:" Now may the Armies of the True Lord destroy the mindless spawns of Manwe." Ecthelion, filled with terrible rage and hate, called back:" Manwe the True king, the peer of the One, shall stomp on your lord."

Ecthelion jumped up swiftly, taking his pointed eagle helmet to his jest and charged. Gothmog swung again, Ecthelion swerved to the right and lept on the crown of the Balrog, ramming the helm on it's head. Being burned by the fire, Ecthelion crumpled in pain, and fell to the ground. His Enraged foe stooped down, and went to bite Ecthelion's neck. Ecthelion, in his waning strength, picked up a fallen comrade's lance and held it aloft over his head. The impaled demon fell over on the elf. "May Eru and Manwe Elbererth the Blessed commend my spirit to Mandos so that i may rest in the Halls of Awaiting with  my King, my Lord, My Kin."

So died Ecthelion, Captain of The guard of Gondolin. And so the Defenders were all slain. And thus did Ecthelion redeem himself by killing Morgoth's most terrible servant

Duilin stood up and looked around. The corpses of the orcs stank, and from their bodies he could tell they had been there for at least a day. He breathed in deep, and felt only a twinge of pain in his chest. He arrayed himself thus: a thick cuirass about his chest, with strong gauntlets adorned with spikes on his hands. Mail connected his gauntlets and cuirass, and surrounded his neck. About his neck came yet more mail plates, and he wore a strong helmet. About his thighs he wore eight rectangles connected to form an octagon about his leg, with thick mail about his knees, then fell about his calves until they reached the top of sturdy boots of steel and leather interworked to protect and allow for flexibility. He wore a heavy pack, which had food for many days and a sleeping roll to help him endure the cold nights. He found a bottle of Miruvor which he took as well, but little water did he find. He shone as a star, before dimming himself with a long black cloak. At either hip hung a sword, and an ax was on his back. He placed a dagger in each boot and one under his left arm. He had a quiver of arrows and carried a bow, but he new little about shooting.

He descended to the foot of the tower without being detected, though he passed three guards. Arriving at the base, he saw five orcs led by some dark shadow which seemed taller than any elf or man he had seen before. No others could he see with his elven sight, and he could see no fires burning. He retreated up the stairs as the shadow came closer, but heard the three orcs he had seen earlier tramping down. He ducked aside into another room. Six more orcs sat drinking. One only could see him, and coughed on his ale pointing. Duilin cast aside his bow and put a sword in his head before he could set his drink down, his left hand upon his other sword. The orcs wore no armor, and none had weapons. With a mighty stroke, he drew his second sword and spun, cleaving the throats but skillfully avoiding the vertebrae of four orcs at once. The others scrambled and even as he dove upon them they blew whistles.

The three who were on the stairs entered, saw the other orcs dead, and the elf with armor glinting beneath a black cloak. The two further away pushed the closest one foreword and ran. Duilin was trained in speed and precision, but this orc wore armor. It drew its sword, and by the time it stood ready Duilin had already leapt like the wind across the room. Two blows landed on the orcs neck, but were foiled by his mail. The orc stabbed at Duilins face, who parried upwards with his left blade and pushed his sword through the mail about the orcs chest and twisted causing its heart to explode.

The others had gone, and Duilin worried that they would raise those outside. A thought then entered his mind. Seven orcs at once in armor could not slay him, but the shadow weighed on his mind. He swiftly pulled the fallen orcs helm over his own, and donned its black cloak. He raced to the stairs, and as the shadow approached he grunted as close as he could to the speech of an orc.

"He was week, and took our companions by surprise. I have slain him."

The shadow looked at him strangely, and in that moment he cast his cloak at its face. The shadow swept it from the air, but a dagger was already in each leg. Duilin swept his swords from their sheathes and leapt, cutting upwards at the things chest. But before he could draw either sword the thing collapsed upon him, hands pushing each sword back down into their sheaths. Duilin wrenched his daggers from its legs, and planted them in its chest. Already however came its huge mouth, enveloping his head entirely. Duilin tore with all his strength, but could scarce budge the daggers from its chest. His hardy armor endured the bite of the shadow, and even its mighty jaws could not harm him. Duilin released the daggers and drew his third, cutting its throat open. It relaxed, and Duilin pulled himself out.

"I am personal retainer of Turgon, set to guard Maeglin, who's name you know. I shall revenge this cities death, if I must kill all its guards one by one!"

With that he sprung up the stairs and drew his ax. The seven orcs each drew curved swords, and each bore a shield. Yet they could come at him only one at a time, and his ax bit deep even into steel.

Glorfindel, the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, now protected the refuges from Gondolin. With tears in his black eyes, and the thoughts of Ecthelion and king Turgon dead now behind him, he helped Tuor lead the escape to the Falas. The vigilant Thorondor and his eagles soared over head. They had helped to plug the sea when the attack had begun. Destroying battalions of orcs, they had almost stopped the tide with Ecthelion's attack but the enemy archers had been covering their troops in the city. In the wide open plains and the mountain passes, Thorondor was the Lord, but in a burning city, he could not navigate his vassals. Tuor lead in the front, and Glorfindel was guarding the rear with a few of his House. Where was Duilin? He noticed that his friend was gone, and that he was slain in the city was the only thing that Glorfindel was grateful for. Any Elf that was captured would be mamed until they were dead from pain. Earendil stopped beside Glorfindel, who noticed the young child for the first time. Idril drooped beside him and the rest of the small and pitiable company dragged on. Then one of the watchful eagles let out a distinct cry.

Duilin clove the helm and skull of the last orc. From the hurt in his chest and from the weariness of wielding such a heavy ax he sat and rested for a moment. He returned to the room where before the orcs had sat drinking. He noticed for the first time a cage nestled in the margin of the room. A dirty mantle covered it, which he cast aside. Inside lay three elves cramped together, unconscious or asleep despite the recent din. He smote the lock from the front and shook them. After much prodding and poking they awoke, and after crawling out they told him their story.

"We were craftsmen, and when Morgoth attacked we hid ourselves in our forge. Twelve of us there were then, but the orcs would have found our wives, and so we leapt forth. They captured us and left, and we know not what happened to our wives, but we saw the forge burning. I hold that they escaped, and hid in the ruin of our house until Idril happened by, then they escaped with her, but my comrades think otherwise."

"Indeed. It may be that they escaped the burning ruin of our forge, but how could they have hid from the orcs for so long?"

"But it matters not, for we shall never see them again!"

Duilin then sought to calm them, and he said

"What do you mean they escaped with Idril? Can she fly away with others on her back, amidst the turmoil of battle?"

"Nay, it was well know to those of our house that she had caused a tunnel to be built a under the city, and she led forth a remnant of our people. But now the orcs hunt them, and they must cross the mountains before they can have a hope of escape. It matters not, for a sea of foes comes now between us."

Duilin took heart to these words, and hope then entered his heart for more than to sell his life as a plague upon orcs.

"I think it is not so. Indeed, if the servants of Morgoth pursue them as you say then they will have left few within the city. If that is so then maybe we can escape unmarked, and come upon the survivors. Come, array yourselves as I have, and I shall lead you forth."

"We cannot fight, save for some small skill in the shooting of bows. Yet we are strong from long hours at the forge."

Then the three donned armor as Duilin had, and each chose a mace and bow as well as many sharp arrows. They looked out of the city from the towers window, and saw a sight which made them despair. Though great was the host which now pursued Tuor and Idril, still many more than they had hoped remained in the city. Now the dragons had departed, and only things which walked in shadow remained to govern the orcs. They came to the foot of the tower, and now found a guard much like the one Duilin had slain earlier. Eight orcs lead this time by two werewolves approached. The werewolves bore armor, and their claws were wrapped with iron gloves. Duilins companions quailed. Suddenly, there came three more elves, each wearing dented armor and carrying notched swords. One bore a wound upon his shoulder where mail had been sundered. The orcs turned but already the werewolves leapt. They landed upon two of the elves, one was skewered by a sword but the other batted aside his opponents defenses. The orcs already charged when arrows began pelting them.

"Ecthelion!"

Cried the one upon whom landed the werewolf, tearing at its legs to pull it off. Already came its claws, crushing the elfs face, then it leapt again, landing upon the elf with a wound, who let out a scream. Duilin raced foreword, but the orcs stood between them. He slowed and stopped six feet from them, one sword before him the other held back. The orcs as one moved foreword, he dropped low and gutted the first, blocking desperately with his other sword before retreating like the wind. He assumed the same stance and the orcs paused. In that time an arrow found a chink in ones mail, and it dropped. The others once more move foreword, but already Duilin leapt aside, circling them and bringing their backs to the archers. One drew to close, and when it came within five feet he suddenly stepped foreword bringing his sword in for a vicious stab. The orc in shock of the sudden speed could not parry, he wore no mail but plate armor stolen from the elves. Nevertheless he was driven back, and the two behind him must slow their charge to move around. Duilin once more stepped back, casting his sword at an orc who wore no helmet. Then he was overtaken, standing with only one sword.

The werewolf was hewn down by the third elven warrior, who looked upon his fallen comrades and then upon Duilin facing the orcs. He charged to Duilins aid, and as the orcs finally cornered Duilin he leapt upon one and smote it in a blow. Three swung at Duilin, who now fell to once knee and was himself struck upon his cuirass. The fourth looked bigger and broader, and it bore a shield. The elf could not deal it a blow, and it swung huge strokes with its sword. Duilin could not maneuver himself away from the three orcs, who now raged with blood in their eyes. Even those blows which he blocked with his sword seemed to drive a fire into his chest, which burned once more. He used his last and most desperate trick, as two orcs pulled back for a moment and the third swung its sword, he leapt into it. It immediately dropped its sword and wrapped its arms around his neck, but with a last effort Duilin flexed his body sideways and drove his sword around his head and through the orcs visor into its face. The two which remained now crashed into him from either side, and he fell to the ground.

Suddenly, Duilin felt each orc relax. The warrior with blood now dying his whole left arm clove their heads from their shoulders. Duilin passed out.

One of the eagles cried:" look out below!" coming into view was a company of 100 orcs and led by a Balrog. The Eagles swooped down, crushing, throwing, and digging and finally destroyed the company of orcs. But to the Balrog, none could get close to, for it circled it's whip around it's head and it snapped at anything that came near him. Glorfindel called the guard to him and said:" guard the refuges, and do not let him get pass you if he gets past me." He ran off towards the shadow- being. and drew his sword, Orcrist into the sunlight. The whip came down. But Glorfindel's sword came right threw it, snapping it in two. The demon, having lost it's scimitar that it carried, went after the elf with it's arms. Glorfindel saw the black, fiery, limb coming towards him with lightening speed. It grabbed him by the neck and drew him towards his mouth. Glorfindel was scorched, he let out a cry and said," Go back to the abyss, demon of Bauglir." With that he thrust his sowrd into the heart of the creature, mortally wounding it. The Balrog, again smote him with his iron shod fist, and this time, it connected right onto Glorfindel's helm. But the Balrog, tottering near the edge of a precipice, and with a wound, went over the outcrop or rocks with a piercing cry. They fell, and the elf held on to his burning foe, hear the wind whistling in his ears. Then he passed, and all that remained of him was his weapon, orcrist, lying on the edge as a guards took it with care to Tuor in the front of the procession.

Duilin fell into a black dream. In it he saw all whom he had once known hewn down. Each stood behind the other, and an orc swung a huge ax into their heads, which never flinched. Then came the orc to the last in the line, who looked up with piercing eyes. The orc was frozen, and could not move. Then Duilin saw that it was a man who stood there, his face like Tuor's. The man seemed to grow, until he was far above the orc. Then his hand reached out, and it shone like a star. It grasped the orc by the neck, and raised it off its feet. Then the light in the mans hand turned slowly red. The man grew even more, then he flung the orc upon Duilin, who fell to the ground. He looked up and beheld the stars. Then he woke.

"He is waking now"

Duilin looked about himself. Oh his right were five elves, one with a face wrecked by the hand of the werewolf. On his left were three more, one with their arm in a sling.

"We must move out of the city tonight. This afternoon a Balrog attacked Idril's company, and was slain. Now the company has passed on, and the host of orcs has been turned by the eagles. The Balrogs shall return and then no hope will we have of escape."

"Then let us be off"

Spoke the elf with the sling. The company stood, and left the house in which they had hid. Duilin saw that they had moved a few hundred feet from the tower, where now stood a third guard of orcs. They slid like shadows from house to house, moving slowly towards the fields between the mountains and the city. The elves came thus to the wall, and there they were halted. They looked back upon the tower and saw no watcher, but upon the wall were dozens of guards. They saw a wide space between the nearest houses and the door to the gatehouse. Then came a loud and shrill wail from within. Duilin spoke,

"If they are tormenting our brothers for sport then we must slay them. My wrath has long been withheld in service of Maeglin. Now it is time for vengeance."

With that he strode foreword, and none could restrain him. For long it seemed they would come to the gatehouse unmarked, but as they drew near there came a sudden cry. The door burst open and there came a massive snake upon the ground. Duilin cast knives at it but none could pierce its scales. It leapt and was struck by the elf nearest to Duilin's side, who raised his sword into the snakes soft belly. Then from the door came many foul spirits, and animals bred for war. The elves stood tall and terrible, pushing their way through the door and into the hall within. The elf to Duilin's right received a wound in his gut from the antlers of a beast which seemed in all other ways as a huge wolf.

Within the guardhouse there was assembling a company of orcs, already stood twenty ready for battle, and more came in from the stairs. The elves charged, swords blazing with light. They passed a doorway where stood stairs going down, and one broke the charge and raced down the stairs. The elves reached the orcs and leapt, pushing weapons aside and hewing where armor was week. Duilin rolled past the front line of orcs and used his daggers to sever their leg tendons, staying too low and moving too quick to be struck with more than light blows, he cut the legs of five orcs so deep they could no longer stand. Suddenly he found that his comrades had all stepped back, few able to fight many at once without receiving wounds. Duilin cast his daggers up and leapt back. The two sides seemed for a moment to stand motionless, then the orcs pressed in.

The elves ran back, those who were warriors stopping every few feet to sneak in blows, while the three craftsmen who now had many dints in their armor ran for the basement. The orcs broke the assault and reformed, near fifty now standing ready though few more came in. The elves all reached the stairs and leapt down, and behold, there stood ten more elves bearing signs of torment. Duilin and another stood at the foot of the stairs while the elves found what weapons they could. The orcs began appearing in the doorway, leaping down the stairs to assail the elves below. The elves were slowly beaten back, allowing more and more orcs to find level ground. Soon however the orcs numbers were spent. Now all of the elves bore wounds, standing now before them were 18 orcs, each carrying not sword and shield but a heavy mace.

Duilin stood, he now carried only his ax, and the armor on his left shoulder had been crushed down by a blow. He then swung his ax with one hand about his head, and stepped forward to chop through two orc-necks at once. Another orc then smote his helm, and he fell to his knees, unable to raise his ax fast enough he let it go, taking hold of the orc mace and pulling. He swung a spiked fist into the orcs knee, covered only by thin mail which gave way. He was then struck on his cuirass on either side by an orc, sending him to his back three feet away. Then Duilin looked upon his comrades, who fought with no armor and little more than hammers for weapons. The two orcs which had struck him leapt for death-blows, but Duilin rolled aside and kicked the orc on the right in the knee. The orc on the left struck the cuirass on his back, where it was still undinted, and held fast. He grabbed the mace but already it had been let go, the orc falling upon him and seeking to bite out his throat with its teeth. It held Duilins arms and gnashed its teeth before his face. Duilin wrapped his legs around the orc and pried it off, freeing his hand. He then pushed rather than pulled with his legs, pushing the orc onto his fist. It caught his fist with its hand, and though spikes pierced through its hand the orc did not let go. It swung a fist into Duilin's face, who twisted in the same direction and brought his knee into the orcs back. The orc spat and swung another blow. Duilin pushed his leg up and rolled onto his side, then overtop of the orc. It swung once more but Duilin moved his face, and swung a blow of his own with his left. The orc's face crushed inwards.

Thorondor espied movement again in Gondolin, and also sounds. his sharp and keen hearing could pick up movements from 20 leagues or further. But this time, the noise was the clash of steel and weapons. Crying to Gwaihir and Landroval, he hurried to the destroyed and looted city. They arrived in no time, and they saw in the dim shadows elves fighting orcs."Come, Gwaihir," said Thorondor. They swooped down and soon they saw a weary and bloody elf, who had just smashed the helm of his enemy in. "Come, and escape, for you will be tracked down and overtaken on foot, and bring your comrades with yourself."

Duilin heard the cries of Thorondor and ignored them. He stood, and looked up, Thorondor had rent aside the roof of the gatehouse, and now he spoke

"You have proven yourself worthy, and I shall bear you now to the survivors"

Duilin strode up the stairs, now facing five orcs at once with no weapons. He flung himself upon them, swinging wildly and not caring if he was struck. Many times he was dealt a blow, and many times his armor nearly broke. But a fire now burned within him, and the orcs fell to his powerful blows. More came streaming in, but they were crushed beneath the foot of Thorondor, who now came in front of Duilin and set his gaze upon him.

"Stop this foolishness! Nothing more than death will you get from this."

Duilin stood slowly, the last orc was locked in his arms. He looked into Thorondor's eyes and then broke the orcs neck with a twist. He turned his back upon the lord of Eagles and strode back into the city.

Ulmo, Lord of Waters, approached Valimar as he came to the summons of his kin. Manwe, his brother, had called upon him for news from the forsaken Beleriand. A fish darted across his nose and hit him slightly in the eye. "Why, did i create this creature," muttered the majestic Ulmo. "They are useless, well, it would be wrong to slay this my creation, like Aule almost did." he saw the Teleri on the shores picking their pearls and rubies out of the water." Now, that was a amazing, brother Aule and myself can make beautiful results." He took out his Horns and played a deep sounding rumble, powerful, yet dreamy as the waves of Uinen. He took spirit form and sped over the walls and came unto Mount Everwhite, where the powers were seated. "Manwe, ruler of Arda, i have breaking and terrible news of our renegade kin. Melkor has leveled Gondolin and his spawns are destroying our works of hand. My power does not run in the rivers, and your air is blotted with the perverse fumes of Melkor's Darkness. 

     "This, i know, brother, for Melkor has blighted our works, but we must stand true to the Oath, for until that is complete, we must watch and wait.

Duilin stood with effort, his legs had been struck from under him by an orc. The orc swung its sword a second time, knocking Duilin down. Then Duilin exerted a last effort, and pulled upon the orcs knees. They grappled for long until Thorodor picked both up and set Duilin on his feet. The orc was crushed beneath Thorodors mighty talons.

"My kin now languish in the captivity of orcs, and you would have me turn my back on them?"

"Such was your plan not long ago."

"I then thought all had been killed, but it seems Morgoth wishes for more of the Noldor to suffer. I must free them."

Thorondor placed Duilin on the ground and looked him in the eye. They stood there long, then Thorondor flew away.

Duilin went now recklessly, slaying those who stood before him, but always he left one alive. He asked them where captives were kept, but none would answer save with blank stares. Finally, he happened upon an orc who was less brave, and who told him of a great hall filled with elves. Duilin came in full wrath there, and found more guards than he could fight. Then Thorondor returned, and killed the guards with little effort. Inside the hall went they, weapons gleaming. Duilin stood inside the hall and found it empty. Then Thorondor let out a cry and before Duilin could turn he had flown away. Then all the hall went black.

Four Balrogs surrounded the hall. Duilin now prepared to die. He smote a blow upon the nearest before they could cast their whips of flame about him, but his blow did no great wound. Then the other three took hold of his limbs, and he was burned and cast across the room. The Balrogs toyed with him for long, then suddenly came a light into Duilin's eyes, he looked above at the roof, which now burned. Through the flames he saw stars, and he saw a new star which now glimmered brighter than all the rest.

"Earendil!"

Then the star went out, and like wind came Thorondor, now with four eagles. The eagles smote through the roof and onto the Balrogs, Thorondor bearing Duilin up into the sky.

"Take me to Earendil, lord."

Mandos spoke after the Eldar King had finished his portents." The Doom of the Noldo will come in this span of years, for the Silmaril's bear greatly on their mind. Maedhros, the eldest of his sire will come and sack the Havens, as you have brought the new bearing hence. Manwe's foresight has also revealed this and other things that are yet come to pass."

                                                    "Namo, the Children of Illuvatar suffer greatly, and yet the doom must be played out. Alas! For the evil creatures of Melkor blighted the Sirion, and my power left there, but by the Havens we must keep watch, for soon the time is come for the final throes of the Oath. Angband in the North is unleashed, and it's fury spreads across the Middle Earth like the swiftness of Nessa. They must be halted."

Duilin clung to Thorondor, gazing down towards the ground. Swift as the wind went they over the mountains tall and bleak.

"We go not yet to the survivors, for there is something you must retrieve before it is forever lost."

They stopped their flight at the grave of Fingolfin. Orcs looked up and quailed before Thorondor's mighty figure. Thorondor swept the orcs aside and set Duilin down.

"Retrieve the sword which wounded even the most mighty dweller in Arda."

"Not worthy am I to wield the sword of Fingolfin."

"Any may carry such a sword, but you must bear it to Ëarendil, that he may make the Valar remember elves as good as Fingolfin, whom they still exile."

"The Valar see all, they know whom they exile."

"For long that was true, but Morgoth has shrouded Middle Earth. An emissary must go, and he must bear this sword with him. You shall carry it to him, and you may use it as you must if you are to not die. I shall now allow you to fly for the last time."

Then Duilin entered the tomb of the king of the Noldor. Before him was a headstone, and a patch of earth upon which grew grass greener. Across it lay Ringil, sheathless but unwethered, glittering like a razor of ice. He picked it up and found it easy to bear, though it was long and broad. He left the tomb and clambered up Thorondor.

"Now we shall go to the survivors of the fall."

Then swifter than the wind Thorondor flew.

Morgoth, rogue Vala and greatest of the dwellers therein was focusing on the death of hi greatest captain of arms: Gothmog, Regent of Balrog. Another demon had been slain, but it had been worth it all: Morgoth's host had leveled Gondolin and it's resistance that was the only real opposition to his hordes. now the puny Falas and Ossiriand was all that remained. Brethil he would crush, but his army was exhausted from the fray. The Valar were a distant thought in his mind, and the escaping compant from the ruins of the White city his thought had been veiled. But seeing his old enemy Thorondor was disturbing. Now Beleriand and the lands to the north were almost all under his terrible, black sway.

Morgoth, rogue Vala and greatest of the dwellers therein was focusing on the death of hi greatest captain of arms: Gothmog, Regent of Balrog. Another demon had been slain, but it had been worth it all: Morgoth's host had leveled Gondolin and it's resistance that was the only real opposition to his hordes. now the puny Falas and Ossiriand was all that remained. Brethil he would crush, but his army was exhausted from the fray. The Valar were a distant thought in his mind, and the escaping compant from the ruins of the White city his thought had been veiled. But seeing his old enemy Thorondor was disturbing. Now Beleriand and the lands to the north were almost all under his terrible, black sway.

Tuor looked upon the survivors of Gondolin, now dwindled to less than five hundred, with little more than two score  warriors uninjured. They marched on endlessly through the snow, coming now to a forest where they might take shelter. But from the forest came a band of orcs, more than three for each elven warrior, who despite their mighty fortitude had grown weary of long marches and little rest. Still, the elves stood ready, knowing that even still the orcs were no match for their long swords and shining shields. Then from the forest came a monster. A gigantic troll, five fathoms high and wearing armor wrought by elven thralls of Morgoth, carrying a black flail. The elves quailed, then Tuor stood tall. His ax was gleaming in the sunlight, and he strode forward alone.

"Not even you deserve to stand before the elves, and have the honor of being killed by they, oh monster. No, it shall be but a mortal man who slays the, alone and unaided. Shall we fight with weapons or without?"

The troll charging forward smote a mighty blow. But Tuor had moved aside, and though the ground shook he swung a blow of his own. Yet even though he swung true, and though his blow would have rent a tree five feet in width apart in a single blow, it did but burry itself in the armor about the trolls feet. The troll laughed, and swung its hands with mighty gauntlets of steel down upon Tuor. Tuor carried a short sword, and though he thrust it above him even the mighty strength of the troll bearing down upon it would not pierce its armor. Then came a cry from the air, loud and clear it smote the ears of the troll like a horn being blown. Thorondor swooped down from the sky, and landing the ground shook. Then came a second cry, no less terrible for being less loud.

From the sky fell Duilin, cloak slowing his fall. Then coming near the trees he loosed his cloak and fell like thunder. Ringil clove the beast like water. Duiln swung across its entire chest, falling finally on the ground to one knee. Blood rained from the sky, and his cloak landed on his back. He stood, and with a stroke clove both feet from the troll. It fell with a crash. Idril rushed to Tuor, who could not stand. Then the orcs charged. The elves as well ran, but the orcs were nearer. Duilin stood before Idril, Ringil in his hands, fearless. Thorondor departed with a shriek, and the orcs took heart in this. Duilin stood untouchable before Tuor and Idril, Ringil sharp beyond measure clove through shield and shield arm and cuirass and on, an unstoppable whirl of death. The orcs advanced but gained no ground, seemingly melting into a pile of bodies that lay at Duilins feet. Ringil was unbloodied, cleaving through orcs so swiftly that blood came only after it had swung through three more orcs.

Then the rest of the elves arrived. Duilin turned and thrust Ringil through three orcs at once, the withdrew it in a spout of blood. He strode backwards and sheathed Ringil, then knelt beside Idril overlooking Tuor. He removed his helm and looked at Tuor.

"You have a broken arm, and at least one leg has been shattered at the ankle. Drink this and I shall bear you back from the battle."

So saying he brought out a bottle of Miruvor, and brought it to Tuor's lips.

"Nay, I need it not, go to the battle where you are more needed."

"That I cannot do. Idril shall not leave your side, but here an orc could by mischance come, and slay you both. That I would abandon battle to prevent."

Then Idril looked upon him, and recognition was in her eyes.

"I say you die, yet you stand before me now, how can this be?"

"Please, come away from the battle first, and I shall tell you when danger no longer threatens us."

Then Duilin lifted Tuor, and bore him back some way from the battle. When Duilin set Tuor down he groaned in pain, and fell into a swoon.

"I deemeth that we should have a feast in celebration and gratitude for those like Glorfindel, King Turgon, and Ecthelion," said Duilin. His voice quavered as he spoke the name of Ecthelion. " And queen Idril is safe! I believe Tuor would would contribute for the feast." 

                     "Yes, and it is fit for a celebration for those who were slain, let us prepare."  Duilin commanded a few warriors to guard the perimeter just in case there were intruders. He then went past the tent of Tuor, and went and paused outside the door. Idril was inside with Earendil and Tuor was out hunting. he went inside. "Queen Idril, i would like to thank you for tending to my ailing wounds which saved my life, and for that i would of been slain. Thank you Miliday for the great deed."

"it cannot have been my skill, for I saw you fall on the couch. You breathed only with great effort, and though I did what I could, soon you stopped. Mark these words as true, you died before my eyes, and despairing I left you there."

"Yet before you I now stand, and have not I ever been devoted to bringing us to Tasarinan, though the way every seemed hard and full of orcs?"

Bright light came into Duilin's eyes, and he fingered Ringil in a new belt which he now wore. He seemed to grow restless, and then standing moved as if to leave, then turned. His gaze fell upon Idril, and for a moment was stayed. Then the light went out of his eyes, and he drew Ringil from his belt slowly. He walked to Ëarendil, and knelt before him. He raised Ringil and bowed his head, then spoke,

"This blade I bore by the command of Thorondor for but one purpose: that I may deliver it to you, who in turn might present it to the Valar. For you shall stand before them, and you shall make them see what has become of Middle earth. Take now this sword, the most keen but also the hardest, which bites like ice, but you shall not use it for that. Nay! You shall present it to the Valar, and they shall know what Morgoth has done, you shall be our savior."

Then Ëarendil  sat on his bed with a sigh.

"I did not ask for such a high destiny, I wish but to live here in peace. Keep Ringil, I shall at least learn the art of sailing first"

Then Duilin said nothing, but giving Idril Ringil with a nod he left with grief on his face.

The years wore on, the elves of Doriath and of Gondolin mingling. One year came a feast, when all the elves gathered together, Duilin saw Ëarendil gazing at an elf from Doriath, who wore a necklace with a jewel more beautiful than any in Gondolin. Duilin approached Ëarendil.

"Who is it that you gaze upon?"

"That is Elwing, and she carries a Silmaril!"

Duilin looked gravely at Ëarendil. He reached for his sword, but found that he wore none.

"How long have you known that there was a Silmaril here?"

"Many have known for months now."

Then Duilin sat on the grass in thought. He looked around him. Surely the sons of Feanor would leave them in peace? Surely they would not disturb a sacred feast such as this? Yet if they were to attack, this would be the time, had they yet had time to prepare? Yet Duilin said nothing, knowing that at least the sons of Feanor would call for parlay first.

The day ended, and in those that followed Duilin grew ever more worried. Soon he began to venture far out into the wild searching for enemies. So it was that he came upon orcs. Nearly seven score, armed and shod with steel of Angband. Duilin hasted back, and came after a day of long marching to Tuor.

"We must go to battle, for orcs come to near, and they shall find us within this week if we do not slay all."

"Gather warriors, and we shall lead them to battle."

"Nay. There must be someone left behind to guard against the sons of Feanor, for they will not hesitate to slay once more for a Silmaril, which Elwing of Doriath possesses. But you may lead warriors better than I, though our skill in arms is matched."

"So be it."

So it was, Tuor led two hundred and fifty to the orcs, and Duilin with another two hundred and fifty stayed to guard the survivors. He himself guarded Idril, and when Tuor left they talked for long of what was to come. Ever did they talk of the mortality of Tuor, and after long Idril spoke of an idea she had, that she and Tuor together might come to Valinor. When the night grew deep Idril went to bed, and Duilin stood outside her door, carrying a sword and arrayed in armor.

After two hours, Duilin heard a loud scream from within, then from all around the house came shrieks of  terror and roars of battle. Duilin found the door braced from within, but kicked it to splinters. An elf fell to the ground and Duilin's sword found his throat before he moved to stand. Another stood inside, with Ringil held to Idril's neck.

"Idril!" said Duilin, but his last words were cutoff. A huge brute of an orc had broken through  the back of the dwelling somehow, and had grabbed Idril and had thrown her down. Duilin caught the beast as he was going for the kill. Duilin swung downwards and the blade severed down the spine of the huge creature. Black blood spurted outwards onto Duilin, and he coughed, but  the princess demanded more attention. She had been scared for her child, Earendil, and Duilin had just saved both herself and Earendil. At that moment more sounds of the oncoming fray posed a threat to the Queen, and Duilin sprinted off without a word of thanks from the Queen.

Duilin went to the front of the house, finding there at least a dozen orcs, faced by six elves. He led a charge, striking the first a blow to the stomach before drawing a second sword. The orc smote him a blow which he narrowly blocked before stabbing it a second time, passing through the orcs cuirass and leaving his sword deep in the orc. He then received a blow across his head, and with effort stayed upright and clove mightily, severing the second orc's head. He then fought two at once, swinging desperately but pushing both back, he crushed one across the neck, not cleaving through armor but smashing all the same. He was struck by a lucky blow from another orc across his outstretched arm, and with his other arm he grabbed a dagger and stabbed it through the face. He would then have finished the first, but could not move his right arm. The orc smashed his left shoulder with its sword, and Duilin stumbled back. His arms hung at his sides, and he could move neither without great pain. The orc struck him across the face, but he spun away and kicked it in the chest. Then an elf stabbed the orc through the skull, and the fight was over.

"Help"

Cried a voice from inside the house. Duilin was already running inside when an elf jumped in front of him, sword at the ready. He looked about him and found that the others were not guards but assailants. 

"Help, please!"

Dark Lord Morgoth, mightiest of all the dwellers of Ea therein, was in a deep brooding thought. Melkor's power now flowed like brimstone through every river, gorge, mountain, and valley throughout Beleriand and the lands to the North. Brethil had just been crushed, sending those few with enough luck to make it out of a maze of terror and fire. Ossiriand was still flourishing, but to the Green- Elves and their faroff kin, the Noldo, or what was left of them. To the Falas, were a small companies led by the mariner Cirdan, they had the biggest population of the Eldar in Beleriand, but compared to the almost everlasting strength of Bauglir none had compared except the Valar and the Vanyar,( whom Morgoth hated more than any other dweller in Arda). But the Falas would be destroyed by the Third Kinslaying, which would finally rip usunder the last alliances between the house of Finwe.

"You are using orcs? I thought that was something only Morgoth did."

"How dare you accuse us of such a low deed, we should kill you now."

"If you do that then the orcs will escape with Idril, and Ringil. Or you could help me,  and we can resolve our dispute later."

"We have no need of you, You five, go after the sword, I'll make sure this one gets buried."

With that, he began attacking Duilin. Duilin waited until the others were out of sight then put his knee into the elf's face. He could not move his right arm, but with his left he took the elf's sword, then ran after the others. He hoped to come when the orcs and elves fought, and thus come at them unaware. He rushed swiftly forward, and caught up to Idril nearly as soon as the elves did.

Five elves there were, and four orcs. Three orcs attacked at the command of the fourth, and were cut down almost as they came within reach of the elves. The fourth laughed mightily, and twitched uncontrollably. He erupted from within, growing to tower 13 feet above the ground, his armor bursting apart at his shoulders. His sword which had looked humongous before he wielded one handed, taking up an orc in his other as a shield. The elves fought valiantly, but were no match. He crushed and mangled their bodies into a mire of blood, then roared at the sky.

Duilin stood now alone before the abomination, one handed and coughing blood, he leapt above a sword blow, his own strike blocked by the orc-shield, which then bashed him backwards. He spun and was stabbed in the gut. His cuirass which till then had foiled all blows was broken, and the sword pierced a hole two inches deep and three wide across his abdomen. He saw Idril running for her life, and grabbed the sword with his right hand. It cut his hand to the bone, and his arm bled more than before, but when the sword was withdrawn he came rushing forward with it. The orc-shield was brought in front of him, but he vaulted over and stabbed the creature in the head, killing it in a blow.

He looked around, but Idril was far away. He started after her, but pain overwhelmed him. He could not raise his foot above the ground to take another step, falling, and landing on his back. He stood with effort, then bound his wounds hastily. He saw a last glimpse of Idril racing away and leapt after her. Always he had been the fastest runner among the kings guards, and despite his wounds he ran after her. She turned and addressed him:

"That is a poor disguise, servant of Morgoth."

Then she drew Ringil from a hidden sheath on her back, and put it to his chest. He froze and looked at her. She was crying, and he drew a hand slowly up to Ringil, which trembled. He moved the point down slowly, but when it was before his leg she stabbed through his thigh. He winced but stayed standing, and cast his cloak about Idril. Then he passed out.

Tuor, was old, slothful, and his girth was magnificent in his ripe old age. Putting away everything else except eating and reposing, he often gave the most difficult jobs of the household to Idril, while he was spent lazing all day in the Falas. Now he espired to go to Valinor, for he felt the ancientness of age drift upon his heavy bones.

He got up, and started making for Cirdan's Haven's, to fetch a ship that he had wanted to be crafted, he would go at once, with Idril. Where was she? Tuor scrambling and scuffling on, finally made it to the port where many elves were strolling or building or sailing. Cirdan was there too. Tuor strode up to him adn said:"Please make ready my vessel and prepare it to leave in a hour."

              "I am not your slave but i will help thee Edain," said Cirdan. Tuor sat down at a bench and wondered to himself:"where in Arda was Idril?' Although he never kept a close eye to her anymore. She had been visiting the watchmen on the border of the Falas when the orc-party had come. She had barley escapes and now with Duilin's aid had reached safety, here is her part of the tale, along with Duilin

one week ago

Duilin stood on a pedestal before a group of  thirty guards, at his right was Idril and her son Ëarendil, at his left was the captain of the guards. He addressed the company before him:

"Three days ago I was scouting when I found signs of orcs. I followed the trail to a large camp of enemies. Not just orcs, though I counted many hundreds, but fell and terrible creatures of Morgoth as well. This wall must hold against them, but that is for others to do. Your job is to protect at all costs Idril and Ëarendil, who  now await a message at the bidding of Cirdan, who was graced with a foreknowledge of their fates. They cannot leave lest they miss this message, which may come to them alone. Now the orcs are but a few hours away, so prepare yourselves."

Then the captain stood, and came to take Duilin's place.

"You have been chosen not because you fight best, but because you follow orders best. Duilin shall assume command over me, and I shall act as a lieutenant. If either of us gives you an order you are to follow it above your own thoughts. Be back here in one hour, and then stay within sight."

The soldiers dispersed leaving Ëarendil, Idril, and Duilin alone to dwell there.

"Send a message to Duilin to fetch Idril as a guard, we are sailing soon,"said Tuor. The Messenger sprinted off into the hazy dusk for a moment and then was a blur. He was going to the front, were Duilin was not the real lord of the remainder of the refuges. Earendil worked woth him, and he took a liking to Cirdan and vessels. Duilin was now waiting after a vicious orc- werewolf assault for news from Tuor. Idril had come because she really cared for her son Earendil, Tuor was too large and lazy to do so, even for his son. Now Cirdan had finished making a great and majestic ship for Tuor,(though not without a  hesitation from the noble elf.) The messenger sped into the forest camp breathless but speaking as if in a hurry, for Tuor was not a patient man. " The Lord Tuor asks of Duilin to bring and escort his wife at this moment to go and Try to sail to Valinor."

            Duilin replied:" Yes, i will go and escort, bring about the provisions for the journey, and let the Lady Idril prepare herself, for she is leaving those whom she loves, and realms that she dwelt in forever.

"Tuor looks for her soon, we must haste!"

cried the messenger. He then tried to enter Idril's tent to give her news, but suddenly a strange light came into Duilin's eyes. He looked at the messenger and held him with his eyes. Then the moment passed, and the messenger backed away.

"I shall prepare at once for a journey back."

Duilin turned and entered Idril's tent. He found Idril standing inside, grasping Ringil tightly with both hands.

"I know why you have come, you have come to tell me that I am wanted elsewhere. My son as well must go, and we must leave these lands forever."

"Yes, that has been asked of you by your husband. But I would forsake my place here as captain and lord, and follow you where you went if you did but ask it of me."

"Nay, my destiny is to go to Valinor, and to there find happiness. Yet has my husband not asked for you to return to Círidan as well?"

"Indeed he has, and I fear that if I part from you you will be imperiled yet again, therefore I shall leave here and seek Tuor with you."

With that he took Ringil from her hands, and then together they went to Ëarendil.

So they rode on their steeds for a great part of the journey until they reached the inner forests of the Falas. The beach and the harbor could be seen from this distance, when Duilin pulled aside the Queen for a talk ere they reached Tuor. Idril bade her son Earendil to stay at a distance due to Duilin's bidding. Duilin spoke first." My Lady, i must say something that has been on my mind for a great while now, and i believe it is on yours?" he said in a voice like a whisper. She said:" Well, i realize that your motives maybe, but Tuor has bidden me to depart from these shores and he is my Lord." 

                                "Does that make a difference, for  with all due respect Tuor is very old and may die soon before he reaches the shadows, why waste your life on a island of Terror when you could be dwelling here as a queen for a little, and tarry."

                                  "I no which choice i must take and i must think that yours is with mine, for i see it in your eyes."

Earendil was wondering what was taking  Idril and Duilin so long, they had been having a whispered conversation for at least a hour of the sun. he looked back and saw tears in Idril's eyes, and then Duilin looking like he was about to be faint. Earendil wanted to go over into the glade and find out what was going on there but something held him back. His father Tuor, disliked Duilin slowly due to more than a few reasons, because he always was around Idril, but Earendil was sick and full of spite for his sire, for Tuor was greedy, terrible speech was used by him, and he smelt of Glaurung when he had sat slain in the river for about a week. So at least things looked better for his mother and Queen.

Duilin glanced around and saw Ëarendil gazing at them. He looked back at Idril. He knew then that he loved Idril, yet he knew also that she was married, and that to tell her of his love would be as a tug of war between himself and Tuor. I would win, he thought. But what of Idril? What of Ëarendil? They would be the rope, and they would be strained near to breaking ere one side proved the stronger. then a new thought entered his mind. One of a ship blocked by shadows, waiting in the waters while Tuor grew old and died.

"Idril, do you love still love Tuor?"

"Yes. Yet it is of a different kind then it was before. I have always known that our marrage could not last forever, and though I would he could be once more a young man he grows old, and forgets himself. I will go with him, yet I know we shall not reach the blessed shores before he dies, if we ever reach them at all."

Tuor now wondered again what was taking so long, and he coughed loudly as he turned his thought into a voice. "Erestor," he said to an Elf near by," Go and bring the Lord Cirdan to me, for i desire all haste between now and the arrival of that women."

            "Queen Idril to you," murmured Erestor and he was off, though not in a good mood, for nobody cares for being made a quick and ready servant for Tuor, and Erestor as a chief of the officers of Cirdan's small navy. "Dratted Atani," said Erestor in Sindarin as he reached the tall body of Cirdan, his lord. "The Most Tremendous and Mighty devourer of sources grown of this Ardar, says all haste is need for, because Qeuen Idril, although he calls her a woman, is late and Tuor is tarrying to long, although you need not be at his call of course my lord, and most avid servant of Ulmo, Lord of the Waters. Cirdan nodded his head with agreement and then he thought to himself, "Why oh ,why does Erestor always overdo Epitaphs.

Duilin stuttered for a second and went on, there was no stopping what he was saying now:"Idril, there are some Elves here that care for you dearly, well i should say love your great virtues and beauty. And we-l-l i thought that these are great gifts you possess and it would be terrible if you lost you immortal life. Please my Lady, do not take the journey to the shadows, for only those who have great love for the Valar, which not many Noldo have, will be safely pushed back. But i deem Tuor has incurred the Wrath of Ulmo, for he is assaulting the Darkness, when the great Sea- Lord," Duilin bowed." Told him that his son would do it and him only."  Duilin saw Idrils's eye's twitter softly in the shadows of the boughs, but he could not tell if she approved of what he was saying. Duilin was anxious, and then he said something that he could not go back on."Idril, Tuor is dying, he will die before he reaches the shadows, but i-i-i love you my lady, and can you return this love after, he will die soon, and then, you will not have to perish in the waves of Osse."

Allright pause in the story everyone, the problem is that right now i am doing this by myself, Curufinwe has not been able to finish this but maybe i see more  people showing up from the past. If any would like to answer please do this on the website suggestions, thankyou,

                                                                                       Amras

To not go too much off topic in the website suggestions thread I'll reply here.
I have to re-read the thread to get a good impression of the story line. Maybe you can give me a short plot line? Btw, which character can I be?
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