Many days and nights had the Nirnaeth Arnoediad raged. The alliance of elves, men and dwarves united under Maedhros, eldest of the Feanorion's, ferocious and deadly in battle. Such hope they had had at the beginning but now the tide began to turn. For every orc killed, many more took their place. Balrogs wreathed in dark fire and other fell demons equally as terrible stalked the battle field as the days passed.
A day came when the sun rose slowly, kissed the earth weeping red with blood. The field was soaked with it, made the killing and surviving that much harder when your feet were sucked into the mud.
The terrible wet rip of swords meeting flesh, the screams of those dying and the shouts of the living pressed on Evelyn's ears. She had trained for this. Spent years with the Elves of Falas, patrolling and taking part in skirmishes but nothing could have prepared her for the realities of war. Exhaustion was close and her muscles protested every movement but she kept going.
“Evelyn!” Calengur was screaming her name.
Quickly she turned and dodged as an axe struck the ground where she had been but seconds before. Sweat formed on her brow as she faced the orc that would have killed her, the rotten stench of old blood clung to it and its gore blackened armour. Sword raised, she struck at its side, her blade glancing off mail. It spat on the muddy ground at her feet in disgust before engaging her in a deadly dance of steel. Evelyn kept on her toes before dealing a blow to the orc's thigh which sent it to it's knees then cutting its throat with some satisfaction. She nodded briefly to Calengur before turning back to the battle. Their battalion pushed back step by step as they became more desperate, as hope they would achieve a victory slipped from their grasp.
The sun shone brighter as the day wore on, as if in defiance to the fate of those below. Calengur kept as close as he could to Evelyn and his people, their small group who had travelled from the coast with lord Cirdan's blessing to join this last stand.
Her throat burned and her head throbbed. Evelyn's thoughts has become nothing but parry, thrust, slash and kick. She was too exhausted to think of anything else.
A cry went up.
Fingon the Valiant, high king of the Noldor had been cut off from his warriors. He looked a lonely figure shining brightly, a last defiant star, surrounded by a blackened wall of hate. There was an inherent wrongness to it that nobody wanted to believe. A desperate final push by all to regroup and reach him as the fiery whips of Balrogs lashed about the beautiful silver armour of the elven king and pinned his arms to his sides. Wails of grief rose up from those who were left standing.
There would be nothing recognisable left of Fingon the Valiant, crushed and broken into the dirt. She watched as a tall red headed warrior fought to reach the place that Fingon had fallen, even from where she was she could see the tears on his face and the defeat in his eyes. There were others around him who pushed him back, made him retreat with the others.
Panic spread as the battle was finally lost. Evelyn turned away and looked for Calengur, spotting him trying to rally their warriors about him. Her relief turned to horror as Calengur fell to the ground with a gasp, a sword buried deep in his back.
“no!” she cried, running forward. She didn't notice the horse galloping full pelt across her path, frothing at the mouth in fear till it clipped her and sent her spinning to the ground, her head hitting the floor with force and knocking her out cold.