Dagor Bragollach - Lothlann ravaged by the Fires of Morgoth

[First Age of the Sun. Year 455]

He stood there for a long time.

Without food, water, without sleep... he stood there for many days.

He would remember these images for the rest of his life.

The young elf with raven black hair, broad shoulders and piercing grey-golden eyes.

The reflection of the burning horizon was mirrored by them, as they were witnessing the end of an era.

It was the end of the Siege of Angband, it was the end of Ard-Galen with its green meadows, it was the end of the Long Peace of Beleriand.

The young sculptor stood motionless like a tall tree, thunderstruck.

He had lost almost everything within a few hours. Like so many of his kinsmen, he had lost his homeland - Lothlann. He watched it burning... from the walls of mighty Himring, the fortress of the Sons of Fëanor, he could watch it burning, down there, veiled by ashes and smoke, and being consumed by fire.

He had seen riders in flames, like torches. He had heard the desperate whickers of many thousand horses, trying to escape the inferno. The whole cavalry of Lord Maglor destroyed... the unit he had served within. Hundreds had escaped the calamity, like him, seeking refuge at Himring.

For some reason, Námo had spared him.

Here, from the walls of Himring, all this seemed so far away.

But he knew, the Orcs would come again.

They had suffered a defeat, but it was the elves who were losing a war.

The distant fire illuminated the young sculptor's face. It was burned and distorted, carrying the marks of Angband's lost siege.

Many of his friends were lost. His father had fallen.

Hope had gone.

For the first time in his life, he felt the weight of the world, the bitterness of life, the failure of all he had believed in.

Estel was all that was left - pure, naked trust.

He remembered his mother's words:

In this world, my son, the creator of being will challenge you. He will take away what you love, and he will smite down what you rely on. For he wants us to be equal to him, he wants us to be free, and strong, forged by all misfortunes of the world, and still forging our own fate.

But in this moment, the young elf only felt hate, and despair. Why had the Valar abandoned them all? It was obvious, the creator of being wanted them all to perish. He had not stopped Morgoth's onslaught. He had left thousands of brave elves to their deaths. He had caused the ruin of the north.

No, neither the Valar, nor the One wanted to save them. They had allied with the enemy for sure.

The young sculptor clenched his teeth. He felt pure, naked trust within his mind - the trust to himself. He would never stop to fight for Endor. He did not care for victory or defeat. He would fight Morgoth's servants in any ways possible.

No, Morgoth would never defeat his love of fire. Yes, he had seen his powers, and he had seen flames, perverted by the enemy.

Nonetheless, he would seek the Imperishable Flame, for he knew the enemy could never blemish it.

Horns were blown again. A new attack.

He turned around, and thus, grabbing his sword he went to battle again, Ráolor of Lothlann that was no more.