(Being a letter written to the Duillond Archives, delivered via eagle)
Gondamon
14 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris
(being the 10th of October in the Shire Reckoning)
Seregrían Hiril i Bar-en-Acharn an Parfiolossë Hirilgol i Duillond, suilad:
My dear friend and colleague, here follows my account of the extraordinary climax of the campaign being called the “Crisis at Gondamon”. I recognize you are also part of this tumultuous event, but prudence compels me to provide you this record, as I bore witness to the events of which I report.
(NOTE: I have entitled this “A Tale of Axe, Shield, and Blood”, in homage to the leaders of the defense: Thorslin Blackaxe, Thordralin Stoutshield, and Seregrían Blood-queen.)
Over the course of a fortnight, the Blue Mountains went from a tense and watchful peace to a full-out siege and passage of arms. The steadfast Folk of Durin, combined with the doughty formations of the Blue Mountains Regiment, joined my own Bar-en-Acharn upon learning of the imminent assault upon the Dwarf-hold of Gondamon by a legion of goblin-folk. Little did we know, however, just how dire a threat this dark legion posed until they were at the very gates.
The tale in brief runs thus: the heads of the three Houses met at the Mountain Council, to take thought regarding the scope of the threat and to devise a response. As the Dwarves mobilized and brought themselves to readiness, my Elves and Elf-friends sought to balk and delay the goblins with harassment raids; this effort succeeded in buying the garrison time to prepare and muster their best strength.
As our forces marshalled in the courts of Gondamon, the three leaders met in a hasty council to assess the situation; the tidings that day brought were grim, indeed. The goblin legion had little in the way of war engines for a lengthy siege; rather, they brought with them creatures both large and terrifyingly powerful, and by these they would storm the garrison.
Little time was allowed us for any further plans. The Dwarf-lords, Thordralin of the Folk and Thorslin of the Regiment, formed two companies to defend the gates. My people were deployed on the ramparts high above; this proved a double boon, for not only were the gates covered from above, but our far-sighted scouts kept a clear watch on the approaching foes.
To frustrate matters, our forces could not all muster in a timely fashion, as Dwarves would trickle into the garrison singly or in pairs. As for my own Household, I had ridden there with a small vanguard of scouts, not having the numbers to give a pitched battle. Alongside me were the Elves Eheriel and Finoruil; the halflings Applecider and Royzenberry; and stout Kortheod and his faithful Plusheila, who held our house-banner in her tight grip. But to our total surprise and delight, unlooked for and riding hard into the gate came a figure in black upon a dark steed: my own sister, Hartagil, fresh returned from the North and still eager for the fight. I needn’t tell you, my dear friend, how our hopes rose as the Black Blade of Tumladen joined our company!
We quickly took our places along the high ramparts, keeping watch to the north, west and south. Our sharp-eyed halflings spied the main force of the goblin legion, boiling like an evil soup in the ravines of Rath Teraig. My newest huntress, Eheriel, marked where shadows walked beneath the trees on the heights above the western gate; another force, perhaps. Shouts from below told of how Dwarf-scouts had brought tidings of goblins and Dourhand renegades near the old ruins of Ringdale to the north.
But it was Hartagil and I who saw the newest and greatest threat. My eagle, Sûlpadron, came swiftly to us bearing dread news from the river valley to the northeast. As we turned our eyes that way, we saw the lights and flashes of fire from the direction of the lower hills – and Hartagil knew those lights all too well. Dragon-fire had somehow come to these lands! I hastily dispatched Eheriel to you, if there was any chance we might get warning to Duillond in time.
No sooner than Eheriel departed then war-horns and harsh cries split the night, and desperate battle was joined. The goblin-horde from Rath Teraig surged up the slopes like a crashing wave. Down from the western slopes poured a battalion of goblins, wild wolves and larger uruks in their train. And from the north came a third horde of goblins backed by more uruks, with Dourhands bringing up the rear.
My dear colleague, there is one enduring truth about our Dwarf allies that has not changed since the Elder Days, and that is their fighting style. They may hold formations and disciplined lines for a time; but when the joy of battle takes hold, their ranks dissolve and they fight as warriors crazed, singly or in pairs, shouts and laughter mixed with their battle-cries. Thus was the case in the courtyard of Gondamon that day. To their credit, the Regiment held their ranks as they fought, and they would redeploy their shield wall hither and thither as the battle wore on. But the mailed warriors of Durin’s Folk, stout beards though they be, sprinted back and forth to wherever the fighting was at its worst, bellowing as they came.
For our part, Bar-en-Acharn split into two parties. Kortheod, with Plusheila and the halflings, dashed about plugging the breaches as they appeared, with Applecider administering to the wounded as the moment permitted. I posted at the southern gate, where the brunt of the goblin battalion reeled up the slope; Hartagil stood on my left, Finoruil on my right. The three of us blunted thrust after thrust, buying time until the Dwarves arrived to smash into the fray. As expected, some of the Dwarves scoffed at the notion of three Elves holding the breach – until a Word of Command from me set the entire archway ablaze, leaving the attackers writhing in flames; all talk ceased.
There came a lull in the fighting, and Thordralin approached my position to gauge the situation. We barely had time to exchange a few words when the roar of battle rose anew from the west gate, as a seeming fresh horde of goblins and their allies pressed their attack. Several Dwarves had fallen and the rest began inching back into the courtyard, giving ground slowly. Hartagil and Finoruil charged into the opening gap, blades whirling and my sister laughing maniacally until the assault was stayed and the gate made safe once more.
The battle dragged on, each assault breaking a little higher like the tide on the shore until suddenly, the attacks abruptly stopped, and an eerie silence fell. The defenders hardly dared to breathe, unwilling to break the sudden stillness. At that moment, cries echoed from the court above followed by the sound of great wings and croaking roars. Two large drakes had alighted on the upper court, along with a dark taskmaster who mocked the Dwarves as his grisly pets lashed and burned anything within reach.
Thus was the final assault revealed: dragon-fire had been brought to bear, and I knew of only one recourse I could use to aid the defenders. Hurling my staff aloft, I bellowed out another Word of Command, and lightning wreathed one of the drakes with a thunderclap and a deafening shriek of agony. The Dwarves were quick to take the opening, and rapid and savage axe-blows from all quarters brought the beast to ruin. Turning my attention to the second drake, I saw the Dwarves had ringed it as well, and with axe and hammer-blows wrought its doom in turn. The dark taskmaster finally fell, screaming curses at the Dwarf-lords who laid him low.
At long last, the sounds of battle faded, the voices stilled, and the all-too-familiar silence of the aftermath of battle descended upon us. The siege had been broken; not a single one of the attackers remained within sight of the burnt and blistered walls of Gondamon. A reek of acrid smoke wreathed the hill, and the stench of death rose to the ramparts. The defenders counted the cost: a number of the garrison had fallen or gone missing, the worst presumed; but the ranks of the Regiment boasted some injured, but none slain. So too were the sword-thanes of Durin’s Folk spared any grievous loss. As for my folk, some were scorched by the fires; but brave little Royzenberry earned a wicked slash to her sword-arm as she dueled with a great goblin-chieftain.
One casualty of note was no less than Dame Nistrid, who was engulfed in drake-fire as she led her dwarrows to deliver their wrath. Though her armor turned aside the worst, she still suffered gravely from the dragon’s breath. Our Applecider swung into action with her healing talents, joined by a Dwarf herbalist; together, they assured Nistrid a steady and good recovery.
As I write this, the recovery of Gondamon continues apace. The many fires are quenched, the gates and courtyard cleared of the dead, and the Dwarves gather in small groups, feasting and toasting their comrades, living and dead. Coming late and fresh to the effort was my own champion, Aifiolossë who, though she had not been present for the siege, had labored to draw off a small contingent of the northern attack, thus thinning their numbers and reporting on their movement. Her tidings roused the Dwarves into sending a scout force north to seek out the enemy near Ringdale; good Aifiolossë offered to join the pursuit.
The Dwarves have sent tidings to Thorin’s Gate and elsewhere, reporting on the siege and the valor of the defense. I shall endeavor to visit you as my Household returns to Falathlorn; but this letter I send to you by way of my Sûlpadron, so that you might have a full account of the events. I can only hope that you and the others there have been spared the fury of this invasion.
Manwë keep you under the One, and starlight grace you always.
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