Suddenly, a crude shout could be heard coming from behind the young elf and he did not have time to react. Drops of foul blood then dripped on the map, and soaked Ost-in-Edhil in a crimson lake. Gaelimil turned hastily to see the source of the commotion and he saw his tutor, Angolchíl wielding a bow and arrow. He also noticed a foul creature, unlike anything he had ever seen before, very close to him and the map table with an arrow implanted deeply in his throat. Blood was gushing out of the stinking creature, as it gave its last breath. The tutor had protected young Gaelimil from the assault of an orc. “We must not tarry here, young one! This place is not safe! Come with me, quickly!” Angolchíl uttered with determination after sheathing his weapon and reaching out to Gaelimil. The young Eldar took the hand of his mentor, and together they rushed outside.
The city of Ost-in-Edhil had been besieged by Sauron the Deceiver’s forces. Fire raged on the streets, as the city was in chaos. Orcs were pouring inside the settlement like a black lake threatening to drown everything in its path. The offensive was accompanied by rhythmic beating of drums, coming from giant creatures in the close distance. Brave elven warriors were being mobilized all around the city, trying to hold their ground against the overwhelming invaders. Blood ran thick on the streets, as the elven defenders died one by one in the brutal assault. Gaelimil was shocked when he saw in the close vicinity the gruesome death of several elven warriors at the hands of countless orcs. He would forever be haunted by the expression of agony on their faces.
Angolchíl guided the young elf with haste on the streets of Ost-in-Edhil, while occasionally turning to shoot deadly arrows at the approaching invaders. Some found their mark, while others missed their target, as the scholar was not a trained archer. Gaelimil was running ahead of his tutor, fear and dread gnawing at his heels like hungry specters. Upon reaching the gateway of Ost-in-Edhil, he felt a strange mixture of hope and dread. They would survive!
Suddenly, he heard the pained cries of Angolchíl. The tutor had been shot in the back and several black shafts could be seen protruding. The life blood of the aged elf was seeping between the intricate floor tiles of the city. Gaelimil remembered the bloodied map, and gave a pained shout in the direction of the scholar. The young one ran toward the sage, who was clinging on to his life, unwilling to go to the Halls of Mandos. “Master Angolchíl… do not leave me now…” the young elf uttered among sobbing breaths, unable to contain his emotions. The scholar patted Gaelimil on the shoulder, and gave him a bloody smile as he began coughing the red liquid. “Do not concern… yourself… with me… “Angolchíl said among bloody coughs.
He pulled the little elf closer to his mouth and whispered “Run… you little fool!” while drawing his last breath.
