The loss of Gil-galad

5

Morgoth, the Dark Lord, cast his shadow over the lands of Beleriand, and his fortress of Angband spewed forth legions of orcs, balrogs, and other foul creatures to wage war against the Elves and all free peoples. Many noble Elven houses had fallen, and their realms lay in ruin, their lords slain or taken captive. Among those who suffered were the Noldor, whose kin were scattered across the land, seeking refuge from Morgoth's wrath.

In the midst of this darkness, a small group of survivors fled through the wilds of Beleriand, carrying with them the hope of their people: a young child named Gil-galad. He was the last scion of the line of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, and with his father, Orodreth, recently slain in the sack of Nargothrond, Gil-galad was left vulnerable and alone. Under the protection of a handful of loyal Elves, they moved quietly through the dense forests, avoiding the patrols of Morgoth's creatures that roamed the land.

But darkness followed them, and the eyes of Morgoth were ever watchful. One night, as they camped in a sheltered glade, orc scouts spotted their firelight. Without warning, the night erupted in chaos as orcs fell upon them, their cruel blades glinting in the moonlight. The guardians of Gil-galad fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered. Amidst the fray, a balrog appeared, its fiery whip cracking through the trees, setting the forest ablaze. Gil-galad's protectors were overwhelmed, and the young prince, just a child, was left vulnerable, his eyes wide with terror.

Far away, in the hidden kingdom of Doriath, Thariel sensed a disturbance in the fabric of the world. Her keen Elven senses, heightened by the magic of her Maia blood, felt the presence of Morgoth's creatures and the flicker of a young, innocent life in danger. Without hesitation, she took up her sword, its blade glowing with a faint blue light, and whispered words of power. Instantly, her form shimmered, and she moved like a shadow through the forest, guided by the light of the stars and her own unwavering will.

Thariel reached the glade just as the balrog raised its whip to strike at the defenseless child. She stepped into the clearing, her voice ringing out like a silver bell. "Back, creature of Morgoth!" she cried, her sword held high, the light of its blade piercing the darkness.

The balrog turned its fiery gaze upon her, but Thariel stood firm, her eyes blazing with a light that matched the intensity of the balrog's fire. She began to sing, a song of power and defiance, the language of the Eldar interwoven with the ancient magic of the Ainur. Her voice cut through the night, a melody that drove back the shadows and filled the hearts of those who heard it with courage.

The balrog snarled, swinging its whip toward her, but Thariel leapt aside, her movements swift and fluid. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a wave of light from her blade, striking the balrog and causing it to stagger. She danced around it, her sword flashing like lightning, each strike weakening the creature's fiery form.

The orcs, sensing their leader's peril, rushed at Thariel, but she was like a whirlwind, her blade a blur as she cut them down. Her cloak, enchanted by her mother, flowed around her, deflecting their blows and rendering her almost invisible in the night. Her song rose, a harmony of light that seemed to echo from the trees themselves, and the orcs fell back, overcome by fear.

As the battle raged, Thariel reached Gil-galad. He was lying on the ground, his small hands clutching a pendant that had belonged to his father. His eyes, bright with unshed tears, looked up at her in both fear and hope.

"Do not be afraid," Thariel said gently, kneeling beside him. "I am here to protect you. You are not alone."

Gil-galad nodded, his young face brave despite the terror around him. Thariel lifted him into her arms, her sword held ready. She turned to face the balrog, which had recovered and now loomed over them, its form burning with a fierce light. Thariel's song grew stronger, her voice a shield that kept the darkness at bay.

The balrog lashed out, its whip striking at her, but Thariel held her ground. She raised her sword, and with a cry of defiance, she met the balrog's whip with her blade. Light and flame collided, a thunderous clash that shook the trees and sent sparks flying. Thariel's strength, bolstered by her love for the young prince and her determination to protect him, proved greater. The balrog, weakened by her song and the power of her blade, faltered, and with a final blow, Thariel drove her sword into its heart.

The balrog let out a roar of agony, its form dissipating into smoke and shadow. The forest fell silent, save for the crackling of embers and the soft rustle of leaves. Thariel stood amidst the fallen, her sword still glowing, the child cradled safely in her arms.

With the orcs defeated and the balrog vanquished, Thariel looked down at Gil-galad. His eyes were wide with awe and gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice small but strong. "You saved me."

Thariel smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Your light is too precious to be extinguished, young one," she said. "You carry the hope of your people. I will see you to safety."

Thariel took Gil-galad to a nearby Elven refuge, where he would be safe until he could be taken to the Havens of the Falas, under the care of Círdan the Shipwright. There, the young prince would grow, his heart strong and his spirit unbroken, becoming the leader the Noldor would one day need.

As Thariel watched him go, a sense of peace filled her heart. She knew the darkness of Morgoth would not last forever, for as long as there were those willing to stand against it, like the young prince Gil-galad and herself, there would always be hope.

And so, Thariel returned to Doriath, her light a beacon in the encroaching darkness, knowing that one day, the stars would shine bright once more, and the shadow of Morgoth would be driven from the world.