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Darthol i Aur: Enduring the Sunlight

Beta: Khylaren, Ilye

prologue

It was a great assembly. It was the Great War; it was the War of Wrath.

Under my King's banner I marched; my head adorned with a helm, my body covered in armor, and a sword, long and deadly, held in my hand. I was a child of Aman. I had never known war, but I had been taught how to wield weapons of death. Beside Turgon and Fingon, Finrod and Maedhros, I had been taught the ways of battle.

Now, I marched without them, marched with the only son of Finwë, to return to those of us left behind.

King Ingwë led us, fell and glorious in his battle splendor. We boarded the Telerin ships and were taken across that sea of blue. I stepped foot on the Hither Lands for the first time, only to draw arms and fight that which had destroyed the beauty of my home.

Under banners of white, with fire burning in each of us, we fought the putrid stink that spilled forth from Angband.

We were the host of the Valar; terrible and young and fair in form, hewing through the filth of Morgoth with fierce determination.

Balrogs and Orcs, Men and other twisted creatures came upon on us, wave after wave, and we fought them back. Slowly, we came closer and closer to the gates of Angband, and then they were released; enormous winged beasts, lighting and fire in the sky, and we were driven back. The Mariner came then, amid the blazing sky and surrounded by the great birds of the West, and he battled long above us against the dragons of Morgoth.

Long through the night he fought, and the stars were hidden from us, but by the rising of the sun, Eärendil slew the dragon lord. The mighty host moved forward once more, the dragons falling about us.

I was with the Noldor, defending my King, when I took the blow to my side. A weak spot in my armor was found and deep wound was left in the blade's wake. I was weak with the loss of my lifeblood, with fatigue, and my heart was heavy with the loss of my fellow Elves in this war. I drew my sword again, moving forth with my fair King, into the pits of Angband.

In those dark depths I tripped, falling upon my back, and as I looked up into the blue sky, a searing pain ripped through my chest.

The Orc screamed as it was pierced, just as it had pierced me, then stormy eyes framed by dark hair looked down at me through a haze. I coughed and felt warmth spill down my chin and I knew what it was to have a mortal wound.

A warm hand touched my cool brow and those eyes came ever closer.

Soft, dulcet tones washed over me as my eyesight darkened and the cold seeped into my very soul. "Erestor."

And then I died.


	Navigation multi-story arcs next		Darthol i Aur: Enduring the Sunlight Beta: Khylaren, Ilye prologue It was a great assembly. It was the Great War; it was the War of Wrath. Under my King's banner I marched; my head adorned with a helm, my body covered in armor, and a sword, long and deadly, held in my hand. I was a child of Aman. I had never known war, but I had been taught how to wield weapons of death. Beside Turgon and Fingon, Finrod and Maedhros, I had been taught the ways of battle. Now, I marched without them, marched with the only son of Finwë, to return to those of us left behind. King Ingwë led us, fell and glorious in his battle splendor. We boarded the Telerin ships and were taken across that sea of blue. I stepped foot on the Hither Lands for the first time, only to draw arms and fight that which had destroyed the beauty of my home. Under banners of white, with fire burning in each of us, we fought the putrid stink that spilled forth from Angband. We were the host of the Valar; terrible and young and fair in form, hewing through the filth of Morgoth with fierce determination. Balrogs and Orcs, Men and other twisted creatures came upon on us, wave after wave, and we fought them back. Slowly, we came closer and closer to the gates of Angband, and then they were released; enormous winged beasts, lighting and fire in the sky, and we were driven back. The Mariner came then, amid the blazing sky and surrounded by the great birds of the West, and he battled long above us against the dragons of Morgoth. Long through the night he fought, and the stars were hidden from us, but by the rising of the sun, Eärendil slew the dragon lord. The mighty host moved forward once more, the dragons falling about us. I was with the Noldor, defending my King, when I took the blow to my side. A weak spot in my armor was found and deep wound was left in the blade's wake. I was weak with the loss of my lifeblood, with fatigue, and my heart was heavy with the loss of my fellow Elves in this war. I drew my sword again, moving forth with my fair King, into the pits of Angband. In those dark depths I tripped, falling upon my back, and as I looked up into the blue sky, a searing pain ripped through my chest. The Orc screamed as it was pierced, just as it had pierced me, then stormy eyes framed by dark hair looked down at me through a haze. I coughed and felt warmth spill down my chin and I knew what it was to have a mortal wound. A warm hand touched my cool brow and those eyes came ever closer. Soft, dulcet tones washed over me as my eyesight darkened and the cold seeped into my very soul. "Erestor." And then I died.