Year of the Sun 472, Midsummers Day, First Age
Plains of the north were in darkness. A black cloud coming from over the impassable peaks of Thangorodrim smothered the plains of Anfauglith. Dust clouds raised by the ominous winds of North deemed it impossible see but a few hundred yards away. Yet still, sunlight managed to make its way through the gray clouds and the dust storm, and shone upon the hearts of the Noldor, giving them hope.
Indifferent to the sounds of Horses before him and the talk of soldiers about, Veryacano peered towards the North in deepest thoughts. Looking into the unknown, he murmured: ‘The enemy is ready.. War is upon us...’ He held his high helm of rank underarm and his broad shield close to his side. After some minutes, he promtly turned his head when he heard sounds of galloping horses. It was a black courier bearing the mark of Ulfang, racing towards the banners of Maedhros. Thinking the long wait finally over, Veryacano straightened himself, focused and adjusted his armor. After another hour of waiting, the army was still in ready battle formation. The Elves were getting truly restless, eager to face the enemy in open battle. From time to time, they were seing figures of what seemed to them as a host of orcs moving in the sandclouds of Anfauglith. Shoutings broke out, soldiers woke from a numb thoughtfulness. The army was standing straight in moments, their hands grasping their swords and eyes looking towards the North. The figures dissappeared almost as quickly as they appeared and the soldiers returned to their silent chatter, watching the horizon in their tense waiting. The army had been holding the same position for two days now. They almost got used to it all. During this endless waiting, only activity seemed to be around the Banners of Maedhros, where messengers moved in and out frequently. Obviously Maedhros was confused by constant reports of an incoming enemy assault. He was arguing with his brothers about wheather to move the army or not. Although the main objective was to draw the armies of Morgoth to the plains of Anfauglith, the army of Himring was immobilized due to constant reports of possible enemy attacks and black shapes in the sandstorm which seemed to be an assault force. The march was again delayed...
Meanwhile, Noldor of Himring were assuming that Fingon’s army was still hidden in Hithlum and that the enemy knew not of them. Once the eastern army had drawn out the enemy, they would attack from the west and destroy them. It was now three days past the time to act: Midsummer’s day and all the waiting, sandstorms, distant noises of clattering and roaring had taken its toll on morale of the troops. Veryacano often walked among ranks of troops, talked with the soldiers, trying to keep their morale high. Although he was at least eager as the rest of them, he did not show it. Every few hours he would seek Orommen, the commanding liutenant of his battalion, and even though he knew he would not get an answer, he kept asking when the assault would begin. He then returned among the soldiers and looked far towards Anfauglith once again for a time which seemed hours, the long silence crippling and paralyzing his mind. Just at that moment, he thought he saw a distant flash of sunlight reflecting on clear steel as if swords were drawn in a furious blaze. Their long wait was then suddenly torn apart by sonorous sounds of a thousand horns from the south. That was the horns of the Hidden King Turgon and the Army of Gondolin entering the battlefield...
Upon hearing the horns, Veryacano was as if woken from a daydream. He gathered his mind and looked around at the soldiers around him. The Noldor were now awakened and thousands of warriors drew their swords, raising them to the air as they let out a terrible battlecry. Thereon, Maedhros, along with the rest of Fëanor’s sons, rode into the center of the army, he unfurled the high banner of the House of Fëanor and sounded his horn of silver. The Noldor responded with cheers and battlecries as the sound of thousands of horns replied and echoed between the mountains and hills. Maedhros stood proud and tall upon his steed and as he pointed north, the army of Himring marched north, into the battlefield...
Continued in: Of The Fifth Battle, Dagor Nírnaeth Arnoediad, Chapter 2
