Blood and Fire

3. In the spring, perhaps!

They came in the winter, when we did not expect them, because one does not expect to be set upon by one’s allies in the snow...

The clatter of weapons and armour made Oropher’s head ache.

Certain traits had become ingrained in him over the years and silence was one of them. In the greenwoods of Ossiriand, too much noise risked bringing Bauglir’s beasts down on one’s head. This jarring clangour of metal and stone as the armoury was emptied made him jumpy. Deep in the halls and lamplit passageways of the Thousand Caves seethed anxious Sindar, who were not panicking only because Dior was delivering orders with his customary calmness, and threading through them came the silent Nandor arranging the defence to Oropher’s liking.

Not that he liked much about this. He and his followers had fought no pitched battle since the Nandor had been butchered and Denethor their king had died on Amon Ereb. They were accustomed to skirmishes and swift, unseen attacks; they were also accustomed to disappearing into the woods at will when things took a turn for the worse. None of them had much experience in fighting within close, confined spaces from which there could be no escape. Menegroth was a fortress: now it was also a trap.

Almost a third of his men were still out in the woods somewhere. Only two of the lookouts and one of the patrols had returned to Menegroth in time to raise the alarm against a Noldor attack.

The constant arrhythmic pounding at the gates in front of him was not helping.

“We should have taken down the bridge,” remarked one of those lookouts, the man who had brought news to Tol Galen of Thingol’s death. “Like Nargothrond, before Túrin went there.”

His wife rolled her eyes. “Too late for that.”

“It was suggested,” said Oropher, watching the wood buckle. The gates were new since Dior had come to Doriath and had been built for strength. The pounding had been going on for over an hour now and they would not hold out much longer. The iron bands had almost parted company with the wood. “Some people thought it might be inconvenient. After all, the Noldor would never attack us.”

The ground was shaken by a particularly thunderous crash. “I think I’d have coped,” he added, seeing splinters of daylight began to appear. “Are the archers in place?”

“Yes,” said Erestor. “Time to join Dior and Celeborn?”

“I think so.”

The avenue of stone trees sloping gently down into the heart of the Thousand Caves was as broad as the Naugrim road across the mountains. Overhead arched a crazy lacework mesh of shadows and far above the gleam of watching eyes. Most of the lanterns had already been taken down and only Oropher’s familiarity with the path kept his feet straight. He saw that Erestor and Melinna moved swiftly and without hesitation through the hazy dark. From behind came the sounds of splintering wood and distant shouts.

At the end of the avenue a huge square lay open before them, where three arched mouths opened onto the great highways of Menegroth. Four monstrous pillars towered overhead, disappearing into the shadows that hid the ceiling far above, and a fountain still splashed at the centre of the patterned floor. Here too the lanterns had been removed from around the square and strung up above the fountain, so that around a blaze of light the darkness and flickering shadows pooled, deep and velvety, almost thick enough to touch. The sound of running water blended curiously with the soft chinks and other noises of armoured Elves waiting quietly deep in the dark beyond the vine-tangled archways.

Dior’s fair face appeared in the shadows. “Now?”

“A couple more blows.”

“Very well.”

He melted back into the darkness. Oropher jerked his head at Melian’s messengers and followed suit, taking up position with the Green-elves waiting in the archway directly opposite the avenue leading up to the gates. Dior had the right flank and Celeborn held the left. Bowstrings twanged softly behind them. All around, people were breathing quietly in unison. The air was dark and tense with anticipation. Oropher’s pulse was quickening now. The wolves were at the gates. Soon they would break into the fortress.

The trap. The Noldor might force their way inside. They would pay for it.

He would make them pay.

... since you wish to know, it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.