"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 Gondothlim 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
that way.
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 escape
the
fire and slaughter, and thinking 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, 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 are then destroyed as well.
Tuor then went back into the fray, but left with
Idril and Earendil, Voronwe and
some other swordsmen, to guard them 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 firey 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
firey arrows and burning rocks upon the Gondolithrim; worse are 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, and
yet
Rog and his men leapt even upon the coils of the great serpents, and
come
at
those balrogs and smote them greivously 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 least 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, whence number of the folk of the Swallow and
the
Rainbow were thrust to their doom, arching from the walls to the last.
(There was no folk of the Rainbow, so I think what he must mean is the
folk
of the Heavenly Arch, the other group of archers, but as I am not sure,
I
leave it as it was.)
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 what 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
his 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 shakes and falls, and behind it
came a
snake of fire, with Balrogs astride it.
The Orcs took heart at the coming
of
the drakes, and minglee with the Balrogs in their wild charge, and
assailed the
Gondothlim 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 men, women, and children, 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, and 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, 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 upon 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 situations merited hand-to-hand
fighting,
and had 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, (Fingon, Prince of the Noldoli,
for
one.) 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 their 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
whither 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, and Galdor picked it up again, but Turgon would not accept it,
and
bare of head, acsended 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 is a wonder.
Then
they come to the place of Wedding, and Lo! There is Idril before him,
her
hair unbraided, as the day they were wed, and great is 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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