The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Fire of the Dragon - Part 2

We see the young dragon in action and how the Noldor fight it.

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20)  The Fire of the Dragon – Year of the Sun 260 Yávië (Autumn)

 

Morelen

Notaldo grabbed his linen shirt and tossed Morelen hers.  “I kind of like you like this,” he said with a half-smile and then grabbed her hand. Then, he turned serious, his smile fading and his eyes focused.  “Stay with us and don’t get separated.  We’re stronger together.”

Líreno picked up and put on his shirt.  “I guess I don’t get any help here,” he said with a wry chuckle.  “Notaldo is right though.  We crossed the grinding ice together, fought through the Dagor Aglareb and we routed them at Hithlum.  We’ll come through this, just stick with us.  Hurry, let us arm and ride out.  Hopefully Morelen’s armor won’t get too scuffed up.”

They ran back to the armory along with a hundred other riders.  The room was din of shouting and the clang of metal as the warriors strapped on armor and weapons.  Morelen was quite practiced at this now and quickly put her harness and buckled on her sword.  Notaldo helped her with some of the hard-to-reach straps and then she returned the favor.  She wiped the sweat from her face with a cloth and took some deep gulps of water, as thirsty as she was.  She grabbed Luinë, her recurve bow and two quivers of long, gull-feathered arrows.  She tested the string and found the balance to be excellent.   With the others, she rushed back out into the courtyard and fell into line.  Several companies were gathering, all standing tall at attention as grooms brought mounts from the stables to their riders. There were enough supplies for a week on their saddles.  It was all an extremely organized muster, the result of years of training with rows of troops in silver and blue, still as statues.

“Here comes the prince,” Notaldo said.  “Remember, stay close to us,” he reminded Morelen, and she nodded.  This would be her second battle, and she was just as anxious as the first.

On his magnificent white horse that was barded in silver plates with a sky-blue caparison, Fingon rode by at a walk, his herald mounted behind him, bearing the prince’s banner, a golden sun with rays on a field of blue.  Morelen felt her heart stir with pride as he passed.  He stopped at the head of the force and turned his horse back. She watched his every move and awaited his words with anticipation.

“Riders of my company, we head forth into danger to defend our lands, our homes and our people!  Our kinsmen Angrod and Aegnor need our aid. They are hard pressed against the forces of the dark enemy and his foul beast.  We will never shirk our duty.  We will never leave our friends.  We will triumph on this day!  Ride forth!”

Morelen’s hair stood on end and her skin prickled at the words of her prince.  As one, the riders mounted and gave a cry of approval.  She was towards the back of the line and waited for some time before she tapped her horse’s flanks and fell into formation.  She could feel the life and energy in Lindarion, her faithful steed for years.  The Telepta and Morna were horse archers and would cover the Mísë, who were lancers.  It was a steady ride of several hours until they could see columns of smoke and the orange glow of flame rising from Ard Galen.  Word came that the High King, Fingolfin was moving his heavy infantry with haste to join the battle and that Finrod was marching from Nargothrond to aid his brothers.  Rumors that Maedhros was moving from the east to assist also circulated among the company.

Fingon’s herald blew a horn to bring the company to a halt by a river and they dismounted to rest and water their horses before battle.  Morelen removed her silver, crested helmet and let her horse drink. “That’s a lot of smoke,” she said. “Have we ever faced anything like this?” she asked, her voice wavering.  Fear of the unknown was something that always gnawed at her.

Líreno shook his head. “A beast of fire and flame?  Not a balrog?  I’m not sure.  Balrogs are bad enough.”

Another horn blew and she saw a dozen riders approaching at a full gallop.  They reined in their horses just in front of the company, the mounts braying loudly as they stopped.

“Angrod, Aegnor!” Fingon called.  “What news?” Morelen could see that the they were covered in soot and blood and a lump formed in her throat.    For so great warriors to be fleeing at full speed did not bode well.

“We’ve been overrun!” Angrod shouted back as he ran up to the prince, his blond hair flowing from beneath his helmet.  “A great lizard of fire leads the orcs and trolls.  His scales are as shields and his claws are as spears.  We could not stand.”

Aegnor chimed in. “Our losses are high, and we’ve been cut off from the main group.  Many fled east to join with Maedhros.  Thank the Valar you’ve come.  Can you ride now?”

Fingon nodded.  “We will move with haste.  Company!  I give you one minute then mount up!”  The tension in his voice was palpable.

Notaldo took Morelen’s hand.  “No, we’ve never seen this before,” he said, his face showing worry, his brows furrowed and his jaw tense.  “I…I’ve been wanting to do this for some time and now seems like a good time,” he added and then leaned in and kissed her, just a peck on the lips.

She stood, stunned for a moment.  Thoughts raced through her head.  What was this?  Did she see this coming?  She blinked and gulped hard, thinking about her next move.  What would be the harm?  She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to her.  It was almost pure instinct.  In the midst of war and danger, she felt safe.  All of the polishing and sharpening and fire lizards meant nothing while she held this embrace.

“Break it up!  Break it up you two,” called Ruscano in his gravelly voice.  He separated them strongly, but gently with his hands.  “There’ll be time for that later.  I don’t care what you do on your off time, but out here, you belong to me. Now mount up!  Everyone, mount up!” he yelled, waving his arms above him. “This is what I get for having you lot in my company,” he said with a grunt, but then turned and gave them a wink.

“Yes, captain!” they shouted and then looked at each other and laughed.  Notaldo grabbed her hand one more time and then swung into his saddle, followed by Morelen in hers.

Líreno rolled his eyes and sighed.  “I knew this was coming.  I just knew it.  By the Valar, don’t get distracted now.  I need you both in the hot springs of Nargothrond.  I will chase you two into the Halls of Mandos if you don’t heed me.”

Notaldo snorted while Morelen blushed furiously.  She steadied herself in the saddle quietly and then drew her bow to test the string to alleviate her embarrassment.  “I’m…I’m ready,” she said, her words more to fill the uncomfortable silence as her feet kicked the stirrups.

Notaldo leaned over in his saddle.  “Remember what I said, Morelen.”

She nodded just as the horn blew.  As tired and battered as they were, Angrod and Aegnor and their riders fell in with them. “We don’t leave our brethren,” Aegnor said.  “We ride with you!”  The strength in his voice was clear for all who heard.

A trot became a canter and the riders accelerated onto the plains.  The acrid smell of smoke soon became heavy, and they rode past dozens of survivors fleeing past them.  Many of them were yelling and waving.  “You can’t stop them!  The beast is too powerful!”

Morelen’s mouth fell open. How horrible was this?  What kind of beast did they face?  She tightened her stomach and swallowed hard.  She would not fail.  Like the last battle, she would prove her worth.  So many things passed through her head.  Her mind passed to the kiss just for a moment before it came into view and then her blood ran cold.  “By the Valar,” she said and gulped hard, her gray eyes huge.

The beast was massive with dark scales running the length of its body.  It looked like an overgrown common lizard but for the horns about its head and face and its red eyes.  It lashed with its tail, smashing boulders and then it roared, shaking the very ground where the Noldor rode.  She looked to Notaldo and Líreno and their faces said it all, mouths and eyes wide open in horror.

Ruscano rode by and slapped them on their helmeted heads.  “Wake up!  Wake up you lot!  I don’t care if it was Morgoth himself.  We ride!”

The bang of Ruscano’s gauntlet on her helmet brought Morelen back to reality.  For a moment, she wished she were back in her father’s arms, singing and dancing in the gardens of Ty-Ar-Rana.  It was a place of serenity, full of tall trees and fragrant flowers.  She snapped back to the present and her gut roiled, and her hands shook.  “No…I have to,” she whispered.  “Courage.”

Angrod rode among them, his hair blowing in the strong wind and his eyes focused and determined.  “Steady brothers, steady!  Its mouth and eyes are weak!  We shot away some of its scales!  We can beat it!”

Fingon rode with him, standing up in his stirrups, waving his sword.  He stopped next to Morelen and grasped her arm.  “Sister…Morelen,” he said, getting her attention.  “Thank you for aiding our people again.  You are brave to ride with us.”  It was just what she needed.

She blinked hard and focused on the prince.  “T…thank you, my prince.  I am ready.”

He spurred his horse and galloped back to the head of the line.  “Ride now my friends!  Ride now to save our people!”  How could she let him down?  How could she shirk her duty?

They closed on the beast with such rapidity, the elven horses pounding their hooves on the hard dirt and grass of Ard Galen.  Notaldo leaned over from the saddle.  “They’re calling it a dragon.”  It had now grown in their sight to huge proportions and unleashed a torrent of flame from its maw onto a small village.  Elves ran from the burning buildings in all directions, some engulfed in fire.  The screams could be heard even over the sound of the galloping horses.

Fingon turned back to his riders.  “Archers! Engage at a distance.  Keep moving and stay out of its reach!  Draw it away from the village.  Lancers, we attack when it’s worn down.  Protect the archers!”

Ruscano drew his bow and waved it over his head.  “Telepta, on me!  Ride!” The horse archers surged forward, hooves throwing up dirt and grass in their wake.  Morelen knocked an arrow, holding her bow and reins in one hand and guiding Lindarion with her knees and feet.  Ruscano pointed his bow and the company veered right, keeping the dragon at an angle.  “Fire!” he shouted and two hundred arrows filled the sky.  Shafts pelted the dragon, but most bounced off of its scales harmlessly.  The few that found a mark made the dragon roar, the sound shaking the earth beneath the pounding of hooves.  It was a sound that chilled heart and soul, reverberating deep into the earth.  The dragon shook its scaly, horned head and looked directly at them now, fully aware of the attack, its eyes like the molten lava of Thangorodrim.  “Fire at will!  Fire at will!” Ruscano ordered as he unleashed an arrow that sank deep into the beast’s nostril.

The dragon roared again and swatted the shaft from its nose with a claw that was as long as a sword. The edges of its mouth curled into a sneer and it reared its head back.  It opened its jaw, and its throat and chest glowed red and a ball of fire formed in its maw. 

 

“Loose formation! Now!” Ruscano ordered and in perfect symmetry the riders spaced themselves.  But it would not stop the devastation.  A stream of liquid flame burst from the dragon’s maw and five riders and horses turned to ash in an instant.  Morelen turned to see this and her breath froze in her throat.  She fired an arrow, a weak shot that fell short of its mark.  It was then that she noticed that she had veered away from the company.

“Keep it together Morelen! Draw deep!” Ruscano shouted as he rode to stay with her.  He pulled his own bowstring back to full draw with his thumb.  On instinct and training, she mindlessly followed his example and nocked an arrow, pulling the string back to her cheek with her thumb. “Fire!”  Their arrows flew true and sank deep into the dragon’s mouth, causing it to recoil.  It turned its head and looked directly at them, it’s slitted eyes blazing red with hate. Together, they knocked another arrow and drew, but the beast leapt with such speed and ferocity that it seemed impossible for something of its size.  Morelen’s arrow glanced harmlessly off of one of its scales and she cried out in terror. Its open maw was filled with teeth almost as long as she was tall, and the stench of sulfur poured forth.  The dragon’s head came down and, in an instant, Ruscano was gone in a shower of blood.  An arm flew by her face and Lindarion tore away from the scene.  Morelen’s mind was broken and all she could hear was the sound of her own scream.

She only came to when Notaldo seized her arm and they came to a stop.  His mouth was moving, but she heard nothing for a few seconds more. “Morelen!  Can you hear me?” he shouted, but it sounded like he was calling from down a long tunnel.  He shook her arm, but it was stiff like a thick branch, her hand clutching Luinë with a death grip.

“He’s.  He’s…he’s,” was all she could utter until Notaldo grabbed her helmet with both hands.  She looked at him, but her eyes were unfocused.  “He’s gone.  Ruscano. I didn’t stay with…  He died for me.  I couldn’t…  I’m a coward!” she shrieked as she pounded one fist on the pommel of her saddle over and over.

“No!  Listen to me.  We must fight!  Stay with me! Draw an arrow and ride!”  He took off at a gallop and she followed closely, more on instinct than anything else.  Líreno and Hurinon fell in with them along with a dozen others and they began raining arrows into the dragon.  The multitude of shafts were having an effect, and the dragon thrashed about, trying to claw arrows from its thick hide.  “Keep up your fire!  Don’t slack off!” Notaldo shouted.  “This is for Ruscano!”  He launched an arrow right into the dragon’s eye and it bellowed in pain.  It slammed a claw down towards them, but they guided their horses away and it crashed into the ground, rending the earth like a thunderclap.

Now focused, Morelen snarled, a sound full of hate and fury and she launched an arrow that sank deep into the dragon’s nose, only the gull feathers showing.  Notaldo shot another one into its open mouth and the beast had had enough.  It turned and slammed its massive, spiked tail into the ground in front of the riders, throwing up a wall of dirt and smoldering grass, forcing them to turn away. It flew north at a run of astonishing speed, bellowing all the way back to Angband, orcs in tow as the lancers rode them down like wheat.

Lindarion came to a stop and Morelen felt weak, her stomach in knots. She became faint and began to fall from the saddle until she felt arms around her, holding her up.  “Easy.  Easy Morelen. I’m going to help you down.  Are you hurt?”  It was Notaldo.  He dismounted and eased her down into the grass.  “Are you hurt?”

“No.  No.  I got him killed Notaldo!”  Tears filled her eyes and she bit down on the back of her gloved hand through her open visor. “He tried to…I didn’t…”  Her breath came in choking gasps.

“You couldn’t have known. It’s who Ruscano was.  He was gruff, but he loved the company.  He loved its people.  He would give his life for any of us.  You came back and fought bravely.  And you’re alive.  That is what I care about.”

Líreno and Hurinon rode up and dismounted.  They knelt beside Morelen.  “What can we do?” Líreno asked.  “We’re here for you.  The Telepta stick together.”  He brought out his water flask and poured some into Morelen’s mouth, which she drank greedily.

Hurinon took out an herb mixture and crushed it under her nose, releasing a refreshing fragrance.  “My mother’s concoction.  She has a way with healing.”  Morelen felt life returning to her limbs and she started to stand, assisted by the others.

Notaldo steadied her. “We will honor the memory and the bravery of Ruscano and the other riders.  I will make sure of it.”  He waved over to the rest of the Telepta, who trotted towards them.  “Please, help me recover the fallen.  We will camp here for the night.  Set pickets and be ready.  We don’t know if they’re coming back.  We will help the villagers on the morrow.”

In a few minutes, the victorious lancers began to ride back from a field of slaughtered orcs.  The thunder of hooves got the Telepta’s attention and they looked over.  Fingon rode at the head with his herald along with Angrod, Aegnor and Tintallo, leading the Misë.  Fingon and Tintallo dismounted and strode towards the tired Telepta.  Notaldo stood strait and announced, “Company, attend the prince,” and all came to attention, either on horse or foot.

Fingon removed his silver helmet and then raised his hand and shook his head.  “No, no need, Notaldo.  You have all fought hard against a horrific foe.  Be at ease.  We are friends here.”  He put his hand on Notaldo’s shoulder.  “I saw you rally the company and lead the attack home.  You drove the dragon off.  I ache at the loss of Ruscano and his riders, but I name you Captain of the Telepta.  Bear the title with honor, ride swiftly and fight with courage.”

Notaldo pushed his chest out and stood with pride, nodded slowly.  “My prince.  I thank you,” he said with a low bow.  “We will remember Ruscano and the fallen.  Our company will recover our dead and wounded and we will camp here for the night to rest.  We will help the village at first light.”

“Well spoken Captain. Let us set camp and provide food and shelter for the village.  Our whole company will render aid,” Fingon said as he moved to others in the army, touching Líreno and Hurinon on the shoulders.  Even the arrogant Tintallo took the new captain’s hand and nodded solemnly to him.  No words needed to be said.

Fingon then took Morelen’s hand.  “I empathize with how you feel.  You think you’re responsible.  I see it in your eyes,” he said in a clear voice as he raised her chin.  “You’re not.  You fought a powerful beast, created in the evil mind of the Dark Lord. It is responsible for the deaths of our friends.”

Morelen bit down hard on her lower lip, letting the pain overcome her grief.  Her whole body shook.  “I ran.  I ran from him.  I was terrified.  Please…” Her eyes looked down.

“No one has faced a dragon before.  Morgoth’s creatures are more terrible at every battle.  You are an elf, not a Vala.  You would have died too if you had stayed.  What you feel is normal.  You came back and fought with courage.  You have every right to be in my company.”

She shook even harder with shame and guilt.  “I don’t…I…” she began before her voice froze in her throat.

Fingon removed her helmet and handed it to Notaldo.  He put his right hand behind her neck and pulled her forward, touching his forehead on hers.  “I release you from your guilt.  You are forgiven.  Be with your company and then rest and be healed.  My house is open to you.”  He let her go and then told Notaldo, “Take command of your company Captain.  I will see to it that the villagers are safe tonight. Your people need you.  We will camp with you tonight and take watch. Tomorrow we will mourn and heal our people.”

Notaldo wrapped Morelen up in his arms and cradled her head.  “We will survive.  You will survive,” he said softly into her pointed ear.

She wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hand.  She looked back to see Fingon walking away.  She took a deep breath.  She needed to know something.  “My prince, do we know what that dragon was?”

He turned back to face her. “Another horror of Morgoth’s.  Anything born of the Dark Lord is vile beyond measure. I do think that we learned a lot today and I can only imagine that there will be others in the future.  Beyond that, I don’t know, but I did hear the orcs call it Glaurung.”

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Chapter End Notes

I want to showcase how Morelen is powerful, but young and inexperienced and plagued with doubt.  I also want to show how and why Fingon was such a great leader.