[Lothlann. Year of the sun 455, First Age. Beginning of the Dagor Bragollach, Battle of Sudden Flame. Twelve hours after the unleashing of Angband's fires by Morgoth]
The drums of hell are beating. There is no escape.
Alae aur i-vereth vragollach! Alae aur i-amarth en Lachend!
Behold the day of the sudden flame, feasting! Behold the day of doom of the flame-eyed folk!
Horses chewing their bridles, eager to charge.
Shimmering armour. Weapons, bright as the light of morning. Banners raised high.
The sky is fiery, and dark.
"Sons and daughters of fire, the hour has come!" cries the elf with the great spear.
"Ela! Behold!" A hundred warriors answer like one.
"Hearken to me! Doom has arrived, and darkness. It wants to enter Beleriand. We are the wardens of this realm! We are the riders of Lord Macalaurë!"
"Ela!"
"Born from fire and bliss, to fire and bliss we shall return!"
"Ela!"
"Come with me! Come with me now, riders of Lothlann! Ride with me unto eternal bliss, ride with me into Morgoth's hell!"
"Ela!"
"For Beleriand!" cries the elf, raising his great spear towards the sky, in a violent, passionate move. His stallion, smelling and feeling the closeness of death, has been chewing his bridle for a while. Now, finally set loose, it rears up with a grim joy.
"For Beleriand!" the riders of Lothlann answer, with thundering voices.
A hundred warriors charge like one.
They know no fear, they know no doubt. No Vala, no demon, no mortal man, neither beast nor bird shall match the passion and the greatness of this moment. They are eager to meet their demise, challenge death and fate itself!
Morgoth's flames have devoured thousands, but Lothlann's cavalry has not yet fully perished. Some have retreated to Himring, and some have continued to face the enemy.
The hills are still burning. Where the inferno has exhausted itself, Angbands armies are pouring through, towards Maglor's Gap, walking ashen paths, stepping upon the bones of the burned.
Soon, they are challenged by the folk of Fëanor.
The knights of Lothlann, approaching like a thunderstorm, cleave through the vanguard of the Orks like a hundred rays of the sun.
But their onslaught is in vain, and they know it.
The Urulócë counters their ardour. They are an obstacle between him and Maglor's Gap.
His vile intent is directed towards the fertile land behind.
Glaurung the Golden, father of dragons, faces the riders of Lothlann.
A storm of fire, wave after wave, swallows warrior and horse, burning friend and foe alike.
Not even a single blade manages to touch the Urulócë, for the defenders of Beleriand perish within the flames, to the last elf.
"But they [the Orcs] overwhelmed the riders of the people of Fëanor upon Lothlann, for Glaurung came thither, and passed through Maglor's Gap, and destroyed all the land between the arms of Gelion."
JRR Tolkien, the Silmarillion
---
[Six days later, upon the walls of the great stronghold Himring]
"Siege tower, left side!" roars the elf with the great shield.
"Calatirmo, Arafael, Glawhir, Macilvelco, MOVE!"
The wall is a slippery mess. The sky is fiery, and dark. Snow and ice have turned red.
The drums of hell are beating. There is no escape.
Alae aur i-vereth vragollach! Alae aur i-amarth Lachend!
Behold the day of the sudden flame, feasting! Behold the day of doom of the flame-eyed folk!
They hurry. They push a long ladder off the wall. A black arrow hits Glawhir in the eye.
A group of enemies blocks their way. Steel meets bone, blood meets stone.
Macilvelco hits the floor. An Orc grabs his throat, Arafael beheads the foe. A spear hits his back and pierces through the elvish armour. Macilvelco cuts the spear in two and smites the attacker, but it is too late. Arafael's eyes turn dark, as the Fëa leaves his body...
The drums of hell are beating. There is no escape.
Alae aur i-vereth vragollach! Alae aur i-amarth Lachend!
Behold the day of the sudden flame, feasting! Behold the day of doom of the flame-eyed folk!
Corpses of dead Orcs everywhere.
But the defenders are suffering casualties as well.
Over there: three dead archers. Five slain swordsmen.
A dozen elves from the garrison are still defending the red tower.
And over there: another nine dead swordsmen. Two slain archers.
A wounded elf pushes a ladder, and hits the ground, pierced by black arrows.
The little company cannot stop. The siege tower is not far.
Two swordsmen join them. A catapult missile hits the blue tower.
The elves reach the siege tower, and block the ramp.
"Someone get Falaswë!" shouts Calatirmo. One of the two swordsmen nods and turns around, looking for the archer.
A group of foes emerges from the tower. They push Calatirmo from the ramp. His body vanishes within smoke, fire and blood. The swordsman smites five attackers. A little Orc shatters his knee with a mace, and pushes the broken warrior from the ramp.
But victory only lasts for a second. A black arrow hits the Orc.
The attack has not yet finished. More enemies are ascending the tower.
Macilvelco is the only one left at the ramp. He grabs his greatsword with both hands, waiting for his foes to appear. He is also waiting for Falaswë. He does not know that the archer has been killed within the fray, caught by many sharp halberds.
The first attackers charge across the ramp.
Macilvelco swings his sword, opening his first opponent from collar bone to stomach with a mighty cleave.
The drums of hell are beating. There is no escape.
Alae aur i-vereth vragollach! Alae aur i-amarth Lachend!
Behold the day of the sudden flame, feasting! Behold the day of doom of the flame-eyed folk!
"Kill the Golug! Kill the Golug!" they shout, with cawing voices.
Finally, one of the attackers counters the large blade, and pushes the elf back. Falling down, exhausted, battered and unarmed, Macilvelco prepares for his last breath.
But suddenly, bright arrows pierce orkish armour, and a thundering voice emerges from the dark:
"They will not take these walls! Stand strong, sons of the Noldor! Stand strong against the tide!"
Macilvelco looks up.
This elf lord is very tall, and within his eyes burns the wrath of the Undying Realm like a white flame.
With his only hand, he grabs Macilvelco and pulls him up.
He nods shortly, and drawing his sword, he hurries to the blue tower to support other soldiers in their desperate defense. A group of archers is following their leader.
The drums of hell are beating. There is no escape.
Alae aur i-vereth vragollach! Alae aur i-amarth Lachend!
Behold the day of the sudden flame, feasting! Behold the day of doom of the flame-eyed folk!
"Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white flame within, and he was as one that returns from the dead. Thus the great fortress upon the Hill of Himring could not be taken..."
JRR Tolkien, the Silmarillion
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[Notes and translations:
Lachend - Flame-eyed (Sindarin). The Sindar used this term for the Elves of Aman (mainly the Noldor) because of the piercing brightness of their eyes
Morgoth - dark enemy (Sindarin). The first dark lord (original name Melkor)
Urulócë - Fire-Drake (Quenya)
Glaurung was the first of the fire-drakes and one of the mightiest of the dragons of old. He was later killed by Túrin (this story is told in "The Children of Húrin")
Maglor's Gap - the widest break in the northern mountain-fences of eastern Beleriand. It was guarded by the people of Maglor, second son of Fëanor
Himring - Ever-Cold (Sindarin). Name of the great fortress of the sons of Fëanor in eastern Beleriand
Golug - Elf / Noldo (Black Speech)]
