"And now came
the monsters across the valley, and the white towers of Gondolin reddened before them."
Long had Morgoth
prepared in secret for this
battle, and had crafted, through Meglin's cunning, the first of the
great serpents, to use in this battle. The stoutest of the Gondolithrim
were
in dread of those great dragons of bronze and fire, and sent arrow
after unavailing arrow at them. Yet there was hope yet, for the
Serpents could
not ascend the steep hill of Amon Gwareth. Yet they lay at the base,
and a
great steam arose where the fire of the serpents and the water of the
stream
of Amon Gwareth mingled. There grew such a heat that women became faint
and men sweated to weariness beneath their armor, and all the fountains
of the
city, save only the Fountain of the King, grew hot and smoked.
Then Gothmog,
Lord of Balrogs, gathered all his
things of iron that could coil themselves around and above all
obstacles before them and bade them to pile themselves before the
northern gate. Their great heaviness caused the gate to fall
in
a great clamor, yet most of the walls held firm.
The siege machines of Gondolin poured fire, boulders
and darts upon those creatures and yet
to no avail, for their iron bodies would not break.
Then the topmost of the iron things opened around
their middles, and countless orcs poured out
and into the breach.
Then did Rog of the Hammer of Wrath, and Galdor of
the Tree leap at the foe. There, it is said, the hammer and clubs
felled the
orcs like so many leaves upon the wind, and the folk of the Swallow and
the Arch poured down arrows like rain upon them, and both Gondothrim
and Orc
fell amid the confusion.
Yet for all their valor the Noldoli were steadily
pushed backwords, merely by the dint of the great number of foemen,
till
the Orcs held a part of the northernmost city.
All this time Meglin was not idle; he had found out
about Tuor's secret delving, although he knew
not all, and that proved well. He deemed that Tuor's tunnel must
eventually
lead to the anciently prepared Way of Escape, which was there, many
years
ere Tuor came to the city. Thinking this, he sent many secret messages
to Melkor, advising him to fortify the Way of Escape so that none
might
leave by it.
Then he went to Tuor's dwelling, thinking to at long
last seize Idril for his own and gain the secret of the passage, and
thus to escape
the fire and slaughter and to cast Earendil into the flames.
Of
Tuor's death in the burning he was sure, for he had constrained
Salgant to
delay him in the Hall of the King, and egg him into the deadliest and
fiercest part of the fray.
Unfortunately for his designs, Salgant fell into a
great terror of death and rode home and lay aquake on his bed, and
Tuor rode
home with the folk of the Wing.
Although Tuor's valor leapt to the noise of
war, he flew home to take farewell with Idril and Earendil and to speed
them
down his secret way with a bodyguard, ere he returned to the battle to
die
if
he must.
Returning, he found a press of the folk of the Mole
about the door, who were the worst that Meglin could find in the city.
Yet they were
not thralls of Melkor and would not aid Meglin in his design, but
neither
would they constrain him. Meglin had Idril by the hair and struggled to
pull
her to the battlement so she could see the fall of Earendil in the
flames,
yet
he struggled with her, for for all her grace and beauty, she fought
like a
tiger.
Tuor, seeing this, gave a shout so great that the
Orcs
heard it from afar and wavered from the sound of it. Then the men of
the Wing, though less
in number, were upon the men of the Mole like a tempest.
Then Meglin tried to stab Earendil with a shirt
knife he had, but a hidden coat of cunningly
crafted mail, given to Earendil by Idril, deflected the blow. Then Tuor
was upon him, and his wrath was terrible to see: he siezed the arm
holding
the knife, broke it and then, grabbing Meglin by the middle, he cast
him
over the wall. Three times Meglin smote the slopes of Amon Gwareth as
he
fell, and perished. All the men of the Mole were then destroyed as
well.
Tuor went back into the fray, but left Voronwe and
some other swordsmen to guard Idril and Earendil as
they left.
Now was the battle at the gate very evil indeed.
Duilin, Lord of the folk of the Swallow, was felled
by a fiery bolt from a Balrog who leapt upon the base of Amon Gwareth
as
he fired arrow after arrow from the wall. And the Balrogs continued to
loose fiery arrows and burning rocks upon the Gondolithrim; worse were
those
of the Balrogs who leapt upon the coils of the serpents to fire farther
out
and set the city aflame to the back of the defenders.
Then up leapt Rog of the Hammer of Wrath and called
in a great voice, "Who now shall fear the
Balrogs for all their terror? See before us the accursed ones who
have
tormented the children of the Noldoli and now set a fire at our backs
with their shooting. Come ye of the Hammer of Wrath and we will smite
them for
their evil."
Then the men of the Stricken Anvil came behind like
a wedge, and sparks came from their eyes from the fury of their rage. A
great deed
was that sally, and many Orcs were born backwards into the fires below.
Rog and his men leapt even upon the coils of the great serpents and
came
at those balrogs and smote them grievously and battered them into
nought
or, catching at their whips, wielded them against them, and they tore
them,
even as aforetime they had torn the Gnomes.
And the number of Balrogs that were slain were a
marvel and a dread to the host of Melkor, for ere that
day never had any Balrog been slain by man or elf.
And Gothmog ordered thus, a few Balrogs came before
the men of the Hammer and fell before them, but a great number
contrived
to come behind them so that Rog could not win back to the city without
great slaughter among their troops.
Yet Rog, seeing this, essayed not to win back but
to fall on those whose part was to fall before him, and they fell
back, no longer out of craft but out of dire need. Down onto the plain
were
they harried and their shrieks rent the air of the vale of Tumladen.
Then
the folk of Rog went about, hewing and smiting the astonished bands of
Melko, till they were hemmed at last by an overwhelming band of Orcs
and
Balrogs, and a fire drake was loosed upon them. There did they perish,
hewing to
the last until iron and flame overcame them, and it is sung that each
of
the Hammer of Wrath took seven foemen to pay for his own. None of the
Hammer of Wrath lived ever to carry
the tale from the city.
At the loss of Rog and his battalion, dread fell
heavily on the Gondolithrim, and they gave back further into the city,
and
there Penlod perished, with his back to the wall, and about him, many
of the Pillar, and many of the Tower of Snow.
Now Melkor held the gate and much
of the walls to either side, where numbers of the folk of the Swallow
and
the Rainbow were thrust to their doom, arching from the walls to the
last. (editor's note: equating
Rainbow and Heavenly Arch for the other group of archers.)
And within the city they held a great space,
reaching nigh to the center, and even to The Well, which was adjacent
to the
Square of the King. There they halted and took council, and their plan
was to
hold what they had won, for the valor of the Noldoli had done away with
many
more foemen then was ever expected, and they had lost many more then
the defenders. Yet such were their numbers that they still had much the
greater number even then. Fearful too were they of the slaughter
Rog had
done
among the Balrogs, for of those great demons they had great courage
and confidence of the heart. However, they knew that whatever they had
to do, they must do quickly, for the fire of the great serpents could
only be
replenished in the Wells of Melkor, and they were running out.
But even as their messengers spread the plan, they
heard sweet music, and the enemy feared what it
might mean. And Lo! It was Ecthelion and the people of the Fountain
whom
Turgon had held in reserve, and the crystal and silver of their array
was most lovely to see in the red of
the fire and black of the destruction.
Then the music stopped, and the host of Ecthelion
drew their swords in one motion and, before the Orcs might
foresee the onslaught, the pale blades were flashing among them. 'Tis
said that
Ecthelion's folk slew more Orcs in that one battle then fell ever in
all the battles of the Eldalie with that race, and his name is still a
terror among them and a warcry to the Eldar.
Tuor and the Silver Wing came amongst this grisly
scene and ranged themselves alongside Ecthelion and the men of
the Fountain, and those twain did many a hard blow strike.
Then there was a quaking and a trampling, for the
serpents labored mightily at beating a
path up the Amon Gwareth, and the remnant of the Arch of Heaven and the
Swallow still fought there or contested the walls taken by Melkor to
the east
and west.
Even as Tuor came near driving the Orcs off, a great
serpent of bronze heaved against the western wall that shook and fell,
and behind it
came a snake of fire with Balrogs astride it.
The Orcs took heart at the coming
of the drakes and mingled with the Balrogs in their wild charge, and
assailed the Gondothrim greviously.
There Tuor slew the Orc captains Othrod,
Balcmeg,
and Lug; and Ecthelion shore through two captains with one blow,
and cleft the head of Orcobal their chiefest captain. So valorous were
those
twain that they came even among the Balrogs. Ecthelion's sword took
three,
for it cleaved the iron of them and did injury to their fire, but they
were
even more afraid of Dramborleg, Tuor's axe, for with it he slew five.
Yet in the end the numbers began to tell. Ecthelion
was wounded in the arm and dropped his shield, and he must lean on
Tuor
who could not leave him, even as the trampling feet of the dragon of
fire
passed overhead, and it seemed as if they would be crushed.
Tuor hewed at the foot of the monster and flame
sprouted forth, and it screamed and lashed
with its tail, slaying many, Orcs and Gnomes both. Tuor then gathered
the
remnant of the folk of the Wing, lifted Ecthelion, and led them to
escape the
drake.
"Thus it was that
Tuor son of Peleg
gave before the foe, fighting as he yielded ground, and bore from the
battle Ecthelion of the Fountain."
Then marauding bands wandered the streets and did
much ransacking, or slew in
the dark elves of any gender or age or, if occasions warranted, bound
them
and took them to the Hells of Iron, to serve.
Now Tuor reached the square of
the Folkwell and found there Galdor, denying the entrance of the Orcs
by
the Arch of Inwe to the west, but about him were none but a few of his
men
of the Tree. There did Galdor become the savior of Tuor, for he fell
behind, carrying Ecthelion's body, and stumbled in the dark. The Orcs
would
have taken them both, but for the rush of that champion and the dint
of his
iron-shod club. There stood the last remnant of the Wing, and the
Heavenly Arch, and the Swallow, and the Tree, and the Fountain. By
Tuor's
advice, they left the Well, to fortify the adjacent Square of the King.
There came the last stout gathering of the
defenders, before the Square of the Palace of Turgon. And there were
many wounded, and Tuor was weary, both for the labors of the
night and the
weight of Ecthelion who was in a deadly swoon. Even
as
he led the battalion in by the Road of Arches, there came a great
noise,
and Lo! Glorfindel was driven in with the last of the men of the Golden
Flower. They had been ambushed, and Glorfindel had only been able to
cut
himself free with great loss.
It is said that Turgon
had sent the men of Salgant the craven, the folk of the Harp, to their
aid, because of the urgency
of the messages sent by Glorfindel. Salgant, however, had lied to his
men
and said that they were to garrison the Lesser Market, where Salgant
had
his home. Now, however, they broke from Salgant and come to the Square,
which was very timely, for a press of triumphant foemen were following
Glorfindel
to finish him off. On these the men of the Harp fell with great
eagerness, and utterly redeemed the craveness of their lord. However,
Salgant's
treachery may have turned out well in the end, more on that later.
Leaderless, some fought over-wrathfully, and many were trapped in
flames, or sank before the breath of the serpents that revelled there.
Now from the south came Egalmoth, whose job it had
been to man the siege engines. Long since
having given that up, he had decided that the situation merited
hand-to-hand
fighting, and had therefore gathered those that remained of the Swallow
and the
Arch and
fought away with that curved sword of his.
Then, suddenly, a great drake burst through
the barrier to the north. Tuor stood in the way of the great beast, but
became
seperated from Egalmoth and was steadily beaten back, even to the
center of the square. There he was overcome by the heat, before the
Fountain of the
King, and beaten down by a great demon, Gothmog himself, Lord of
Balrogs, and
Son of Melkor (So it says before it is eventually decided in later
stories
that the Valar cannot bear children.)
It seemed as if Tuor would be killed, but Lo!
Suddenly Ecthelion, The Lord of the Fountain, his face the pallor
of grey steel, and his shield arm hanging useless at his side, came
before
Tuor as he fell, and strove with that great demon. Yet he did not kill
Gothmog, recieving rather a wound in his sword arm. Then, Ecthelion,
Lord
of the Fountain, fairest of the Noldoli, wounded in both arms, leapt
full
at Gothmog, even as that Balrog raised his whip, to give Ecthelion his
deathblow as he had so many others, even Fingon, Prince of the Noldoli.
Ecthelion leapt, and drove the spike on his helm full into
Gothmog's breast. (Amid cries of
"Thats using his head" Eonwe
continues. I'm
sorry guys, I've been typing for awhile, and I needed a joke, not that
this is not
a voluntary action...anyways, continue reading).Twining his legs
around
Gothmog's, Ecthelion hurled himself backwards into the Fountain of the
King. The Balrog yelled and fell forward, and the fire of his being
was
extinguished in the Fountain, and he perished, along with Ecthelion
who,
steel-laden, sank into the depths, and so perished the Lord of the
Fountain, after fiery battle in cool waters.
Now Tuor had arisen again, at the fall of Ecthelion,
and he was much grieved, but being wrapped in battle, he scarce cut his
way to the folk about the palace.
Then, seeing the wavering of the enemy at the fall
of their Captain and Champion, the Royal Guard came down and laid
on, and the King himself came down in great splendor and hewed with
his
men, for he was great in arms, and they swept back much of the Square.
Of
the Balrogs they slew two score, which is very great prowess indeed,
but
still greater deeds did they do. They hemmed in a fire-drake, for all
its
flaming, and forced it into the Fountain of the King, where Gothmog and
Ecthelion had received their end, and there it received its end, for
the fire of its
heart was quenched; yet therein the Fountain received its end as well,
for
it, like all the other fountains so early in the battle, like the hope
of
the Gondolithrim, went up in smoke.
Then dread fell on all for the doom of the
fountain, and all the Royal Household were killed by the heat, and by
the foe, and by the serpent, and by one another in the confusion of the
scalding mists and burning smog.
But a body of them protected the King, and there was
a rally of them beneath Glingol and Bansil (stone replicas of
the Two Trees.)
Then said the King, "Great is the Fall of Gondolin,"
and the people shuddered, for such were the words of Amnon the Prophet
of old.
And Tuor spoke in a wild ruth and for love of the
King, "Gondolin stands, and Ulmo will not suffer it to perish."
But Turgon replied, "Evil have I brought upon the
Flower of the Plain in despite of Ulmo, and he now leaves it
to wither in fire. Lo! No more hope is in my heart for my city of
loveliness, but the children of the Noldoli shall not be worsted
forever. Fight not
against doom, O, my children. Seek those who may, safety in flight, but
let Tuor have your fealty.
Tuor replied, "Thou art King."
To which Turgon replied, "Yet no blow shall I strike
more," and cast his crown at the roots of Glingol. Galdor picked
it
up again, but Turgon would not accept it,
and bare of head, ascended the white tower that stood nigh his palace.
There
he shouted in a voice like a horn and the Encircling Mountains rang
with
his call, "Great is the Victory of the Noldoli!"
'Tis said that it was then midnight and the Orcs
laughed with derison.
Tuor then spoke of the tunnel he had long labored
on, and begged the King to have other mind, and
lead
the Noldor through it. Yet the King resisted all efforts to move him,
and
the remnant of the Royal House refused to leave without him.
Then Tuor, torn between leaving and his reverence
for the King, stood for a moment undecided. In the end it was the
wailing of the women and his pity for
the sad remainder of the Gondolithrim that decided him. WIth a sad
heart,
he turned away, to lead them to salvation...or death.
Glorfindel and the men of the Golden Flower held the
rear manfully on the long retreat, and
many of the Flower fell there. Then Tuor came to Gar Anion, the place
of the
Gods, and looked for an evil stand. Yet there was none, and the enemy
seemed already to slacken and scarce any follow them, and that was a
wonder.
Then they come to the place of Wedding, and Lo! There was Idril before
him,
her hair unbraided, as the day they were wed, and great was Tuor's joy.
But Idril saw not Tuor, for her gaze was locked upon
the Palace of the King. Then all the host halted and looked back, and
their hearts froze, for now
they saw why the foe had pressed them so little.
Lo! A drake was coiled even on the very steps of the
palace, defiling their whiteness, and all about, roaming bands of Orcs
ransacked and destroyed. The King's Tower was
beset. High up, they could decry, with their keen elven eyesight, the
form of
the King, but below lay a great serpent of brass wrapped around the
base, sawing and rowing with its tail and spouting flame.
And Idril spoke and said, "Woe is I whose father
awaiteth doom, even upon his utmost
pinnacle, yet seven times woe whose lord hath gone down before Melkor
and will
stride home no more."
And Tuor replied "Lo Idril, it is I, and I live, yet
now will I get thy father hence, be it from the Hells of Melkor!" And
distraught
with the grief of his wife, he made as if to walk down the hill alone.
And yet Idril, coming suddenly to her senses,
clasped him about the knees with much weeping and cries of "My Lord, My
Lord", and halted him.
Yet even as they spoke a great noise arose from
that place of anguish, and the
tower
leapt into flame and in a stab of fire it fell. Great was the fall of
Turgon,
King of the Gondolithrim and, for that hour, the victory was to Melko.
Thus fell the city.
"Gondobar am I
called, and Gondothlimbar,
The City of Stone,
and the City of the Dwellers
in Stone;
Gondolin the Stone of Son and Gwarestrin am I named, The Tower of the Guard;
Gar Thurion, for I am hidden from the eyes of Melko..."
Until that terrible day.
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