Battle raged about Seronaer, the screeches of orcs and the roars of trolls mixed with the battle cries of men and elves and the clatter of steel and wood. It was messy, the ashen ground was turned muddy with blood as the mountain before them spewed yet more foul ash into the air.
Her once white armour was now black and red; coated in soot, ash, and blood. The fight had been going for a long time with barely any respite for them, but when ever she could she would wipe the muck from her eyes. The smell was even worse. She wasn’t sure what it was, she had smelt battle before, too often she sometimes thought, but this was different. Perhaps it was the volcano nearby, or the toxic wasteland that was Gorgoroth that worsened the stench. She didn’t care, it took a lot of effort not to throw up.
Raising her shield, she blocked a hammer strike from a spiked mace, and returned the favour with a quick jab of her spear, beside her, her husband performed a similar motion. Hithfaeron, with his dark Noldorin hair and fierce eyes, was beside her on the battle field, shield raised beside her and helping to protect her with it, just as she protected her eldest son, Calimírë, on the other side. Astalsáma, her other son was the far side of her husband, keeping close. The four of them were fighting together as a family for their freedom from the tyranny of the Enemy.
They had begun a few ranks back from the front line, ready and waiting for their chance to move forward and battle the enemy. A few orcs made it through, over, or under their front ranks, and they finished them off quickly. Until the troll came. It smashed through the front two ranks like an aurochs through a straw house. Her family came together and helped thrust it back as they pushed to the front line of the battle.
Then it had become a bloody fight for survival, watching out for one another just as much as they were watching out for themselves. Seronaer couldn’t tell day from night in that dark land, but she could only guess the battle had been raging for almost a whole day,
Then, in the distance, above the din of battle, she heard screeching and screaming from the orcs, and then cheers from men and elves. She didn’t know what was happening when suddenly horns began to blow and a hue and cry rose up. “The Enemy has been defeated!”
Seronaer let out a triumphant war cry, thrusting her spear into the foes before her as they began to fall back in terror. The goblins ran first, scurrying away as quickly as possible. The Uruks were more reluctant. They kept fighting as they retreated away from the victorious Elves, their weapons still swinging.
The elves surged forward, and hewed them down, felling them like wheat before a farmer. Before they knew what was happening though, an enraged troll burst through, swinging its large mace wildly. In their joy and confidence of victory, they hadn’t noticed it until there was a large thud beside Seronaer.
Everything froze as she turned, her eyes fixed on what was on her right. All that was left of Hithfaeron, of Calimírë, was her husband’s shield arm, thrown out to one side. The rest of him was crushed, as was her son.
Her mind went to memories, holding Hithfaeron’s hand as they walked the gardens of Lindon together, talking and singing together gaily. The bouquets of flowers he had presented her on many occasions, the way he had held her close during times of grief. She remembered birthing Calimírë, the way he had cried as he entered the world, his first steps, his first words, the way he had looked at her when he told her she was the best mother in the world. He had meant it.
A scream escaped her lips, and she saw the Olog’s small, dim eyes fix on her. It roared its response and begun to swing the mace at her as she charged.
She felt the mud beneath her boots as she rushed forward, threatening her with slipping over in it. The ash filled air was nothing to her now as she pushed through it to kill the beast. Blood blurred her vision, her own or someone else’s she did not know. What she did know was that this beast would pay.
Mace came swinging down as she drew back her spear to slay the troll when suddenly she was falling over in the blood and ash, shoved out the way. She recovered, whipping her head back but couldn’t make out who had shoved her when the troll fell back. Other’s had aided the slaying of the beast, hewing it down with their swords and axes.
Seronaer rushed through the mud and saw who had saved her life. She would never have made it; the troll would have crushed her had it not been for Astalsáma. He had seen what she was going to do and taken the blow himself to save her. She looked up as she cradled his head, all that was left of his mangled body. Tears poured down her face as her gaze found the dead troll. She hadn’t even been the one to avenge them. Her mother, her father, her husband, her sons. She hadn’t been able to save or avenge any of them. Not one.
She screamed. She wept. She cradled her son’s ruined body. She kissed his forehead and she roared at the heavens. She begged for help. For the Valar to hear her prayers and to give him back to her.
Elves surged past her as she grieved, clamouring with their victory, but she could see only her loss.
She would see them again, in Aman, but how could she without avenging them? How could she ever face those who died for her without having done something with the life they had allowed her to live? What would she do with her life without them in it?
