"Can you believe it? We're finally going!"
A group of Elves was going towards Himring, and Aeglirion was full of strenght. Many had become ready, and a newly-formed company was to move out at sunrise. Aeglirion and his friend Partheron were included in this group - both were intensely waiting for morning. Glory and great deeds were awaiting.
"I fear that it will not quite be what you expect it to be like", said his friend. "Long has Morgoth been quiet."
"He only fears the strenght of the Eldar! No matter how many orcs come from those gates, we will smite them down."
Partheron remained thoughtful. Expressing his worries of the Foalókë, and of the Balrogs, Aeglirion fell silent. Both were quiet for a long while, until at the gates Partheron suggested something to draw their mind from the coming trials. Aeglirion agreed, though he noted that they were better off having a good rest at the night. They went to a winery near the gate and for the rest of the evening, they spoke of the happenings of Beleriand. A rumor had it that Fingolfin was planning an assault upon Angband.
Dawn came, and trumpets rang. The soldiers marched to Ard-calen unhindered and made camp south and east of the gates of Angband. A thing of wonder and joy was the coming of the Edain, Men, and their strenght joined the hosts surrounding Morgoth's stronghold. Aeglirion was greatly interested in these newcomers. He was intrigued by their long road and asked for news. They only told that it had been 'a dark path' and spoke no more of it. Years went by, and no sign of orcs, Balrogs or Glaurung came.
One winter night, Aeglirion was writing a letter to Mirthan. He was in about halfway of what he had thought to write, when a cry came from outside. Aeglirion springed up and leapt out of his tent. It was a terrifying sight.
Rivers of fire were flowing through the plains, and in their light a number uncounted of orcs could be seen marching from Angband. But before them came the Balrogs and the Foalóke, magnificent and terrible. The commander told them to run - the north-wind brought a scent of burning flesh with it. They left behind everything that they weren't wearing, and for their lives they fled to the highlands of Dorthonion. They climbed up the slopes until they could no more, and there they waited.
The company stood by helpless as all the plains of Ard-calen burned to ash. They saw a tiny spark of light to go towards the gates of Angband. Some said it was Oromë itself who had come to aid the Noldor in their hour of need. Later they could hear faint booms from the north, as if it was thundering.
Neither orc or Balrog would come for them, and at last they made their way back to Himring. There they did hear all that was to be heard; the Siege was broken, and the High King was dead. Many had perished either to the flames or to the whips of the Balrogs or the terrible fires of the Dragon.
So it was that Partheron had been right. No such amount of death and carnage had Aeglirion been expecting, and he was ashamed for his fear that had taken him at the sight of the fires. But he was glad for being yet alive. A new shield was made for him, and he washed himself of the ashes and the scent of smoke that lay heavy upon him.
The company marched soon south to help to rid Thargelion of orcs. There were their blades blooded black, and though Aeglirion had now avenged his father, he was greatly enraged by the defiling of the forests and streams by the Orcs. By wonder both he and his friend lived through those dark days, and in time they were back to the winery by the gates. But they were changed.
