Middle-Earth: Kaen, Lord of Light

On the outskirts of the chief city of Doriath, battle was breaking forth everywhere beneath the trees. More than ten thousand Elves, led by Elurín , were locked in slaughter with an equal host of Haradrim, and the forest rang with the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded.

Elurín , Lord of Doriath, co-ruler of the Sindar and Teleri of Middle-earth, stood amid the tumult as though he were wrought of moonlight and proud fire. Though his raiment and hair were spattered with blood, his nobility and radiance could not be dimmed. Like a beacon set among boughs, he drew the hearts of his warriors and guided them to strike with a fierce and steadfast will.

Then Legolas came, bringing two thousand Elven warriors, and he did not pause but cast himself at once into the fray. "Legolas!" cried Elurín in glad surprise, cutting down the foe before him, and coming swiftly to stand face to face. "To see my kinsman unharmed is a joy beyond telling."

"My lord, I also am heartened to find you safe," Legolas answered, bowing slightly. "Yet we must drive these enemies back, and then I bear tidings of great importance, which I deem will gladden your heart."

"Good!" said Elurín , and he lifted high the kingly sword in his hand, and his voice went clear through the woodland. "Warriors of Doriath, gather to my standard! Together we shall beat back these fallen Men!"

From every side the Elves still fighting drew towards him, swift and sure, as streams to a river. "Form ranks!" cried Legolas, and at once the Elven soldiers raised shield and spear, rebuilding the shield-wall with practiced hands. Against the disorder of the Haradrim, the flowing discipline of the Sindar was like a tide with purpose, and their strength grew mightier with each step.

Forward they pressed, and where they went the Haradrim, lacking shields and long spears, dared not meet them head-on. A low horn sounded, the signal of retreat, and the Men of the South fell back quickly, unwilling to grind themselves against the Elves while the line held firm. When at last the Haradrim had withdrawn wholly from that stretch of wood, Elurín gave command without delay: "Retreat. Return to the city!"

"No, my lord!" Legolas spoke swiftly and stepped forward. "I have brought news of help. Kaen Eowenríel's reinforcements have come. Ten thousand of the Caladhîn host, under Lady Tauriel, are encamped in the northern forest."

He went on, his words urgent as a wind that bears fire: "Kaen Eowenríel himself led the host that rescued Prince Eluréd from the corsairs. Now Prince Eluréd, with a great multitude of his people and his soldiers, is marching north to join with us. Lady Tauriel has already made contact with them, and we have agreed that tomorrow, before the dawn breaks, we shall strike together and hurl our full strength upon the enemy."

At this Elurín 's eyes kindled, and the light in them was the light of keen thought. He weighed the matter in silence, and then nodded slowly. "If it is indeed so, then we should grant our foes… a grievous blow."

In the last moment before daybreak, the forest of Minhiriath fell into a deep and heavy stillness. Beneath the high ground of the northern wood, the fires of the Haradrim camp were dying down, until only a few embers glowed, and the thin notes of patrolmen's bone-flutes drifted through the trees in broken phrases, carrying a lazy rhythm that spoke of weariness.

For yesterday and through the night, the Caladhîn Elves, under Tauriel's command, had harried the Haradrim without cease, giving them no rest and no whole sleep. Elves might endure without slumber, but Men of darkness could not, and now they were heavy-eyed and slow of thought. In the east the first red gleam had begun to crown the horizon, and the world stood poised upon the edge of dawn.

Upon a slope above the camp stood Tauriel, Anariel, Gandalf, Aragorn (Estel), Denethor, and others, looking down into the shadowed sprawl of the enemy. "Look!" said Denethor, raising his hand towards the west. "A signal!"

Out of the darkness a single flaming arrow rose, loosed from the forest many leagues away, and it climbed like a falling star reversed. Gandalf's gaze followed it, and he spoke softly, yet with certainty: "It seems Legolas has found Elurín , and all is set for battle."

Then he turned to Tauriel. "Queen, give the command."

Tauriel nodded, and slowly raised her sword. Behind the slope, ten thousand Caladhîn warriors and three thousand Noldor stood in ordered squares, spears angled to the sky, shields locked together, making a wall like hammered bronze, unbreakable and grim. "Prepare," said Tauriel, and at once thousands of Caladhîn archers set arrow to string, the arrowheads glinting cold in the first touch of morning.

"Five volleys. Slay!"

At her word the arrows leapt, a storm released, arcing in fair curves through the air and falling clean into the Haradrim ranks below the hill. Wave followed wave, like sudden rain, like stars dropping from a high and heedless heaven... The humming of the massed bowstrings was like a swarm passing over the land, and the golden rain of arrows darkened the sky, covering the forward camp in an instant.

Men still caught in sleep were pierced through canvas and flesh, nailed to earth, and their cries rose shrill and dreadful. Arrows dipped in burning oil struck the piled hay, and smoke rolled up thick and choking, staining the newborn sun a sullen red. The Haradrim camp broke into confusion, with shouts and running feet, and the frightened screams of beasts.

The light of the sun climbed, and it shone upon those on the height, bathing them as though in blessing, so that they seemed like messengers of the West. "Charge!" cried Anariel, drawing her sword, and the three thousand Noldor in heavy mail surged from behind the slope and thundered down upon the camp.

Tauriel, Anariel, Gandalf, Aragorn (Estel), Denethor, and Gimli the Dwarf went foremost, heroes at the spearpoint, and they smashed into the enemy tents. Shield met shield with a dull, terrible sound, and the forest's unyielding ground offered no mercy to the Haradrim's crude defenses. The line of the Noldor broke through as a ram through rotten wood.

Tauriel led the Caladhîn in a sweeping flank, and her twin blades became a deadly brightness, silver and swift. She was first into the press, and with a flash she cut down two Haradrim priests together, their throats opened in the same breath; the bone-flutes that had been piping curses fell silent at once.

"For the High King!" rose the cry.

"For Caerilassil!" answered the Caladhîn, and their shout was as one voice. Their archery was dreadful in its precision; each tremor of bowstring meant a foe toppled, and the ground grew thick with fallen Men. "For the Light!" cried the Noldor, and their armored charge was unstoppable, as though wrath itself had taken form.

They carried with them the anger of Nargothrond, and now they poured it out upon the enemy before their eyes.

At the same time, from the western side, Legolas and Elurín began their assault. Elurín the King drove forth at the head of Elven warriors out of the trees, their spearheads still wet with the night's dew, yet they did not falter, but crashed into the Haradrim rear.

Elurín's sword was like blue lightning; with each stroke he hewed down several foes, and behind him his warriors formed a great wedge, splitting the Haradrim array into two. "The banner of Doriath!" cried an Elven soldier, recognizing the flag embroidered with a swan, and the hearts of the Elves blazed higher.

Caught between two hosts, struck with fierce Elven might, the Haradrim could not shape any true defense and could only retreat southward, breaking in disorder. They had brought with them from Harad many war-elephants, great and grim, but among the close trees those beasts could not be properly turned or driven. The Haradrim sought open ground where they might form ranks and lean on numbers to crush the Elves.

But it was in vain.

For to the south, Prince Eluréd, refusing all counsel, dragged his weakened body into armor and took up command. With two thousand Eowenrían Elven shadow-wardens and more than ten thousand Doriath Elves, he had laid traps along the road by which the Haradrim must flee.

When the Haradrim elephants attempted to thunder through, the earth beneath them suddenly gave way. Sharp stakes rose and pierced their feet. The vast beasts bellowed in agony, and in their pain they turned and crashed back into their own lines, sowing greater terror and ruin.

"Vengeance!" cried Prince Eluréd "Vengeance for our slain! Kill!"

Thus he cut off the enemy's retreat, and the battle became a bloody slaughter. The Haradrim were fierce by nature, but under the threefold press of Elves they lost all strength to resist. Their formations were torn into countless fragments, each fighting alone, and one by one they were destroyed.

Then Elurín drove forward, hunting down the enemy's leaders, until he came upon their chieftain, a dark priest wearing a feathered cloak, standing beside a cluster of white-barked trees. The priest brandished a staff set with the bones of Men, striving to call forth a tide of shadow, but Elurín thrust his blade through the priest's chest, and the darkness in his eyes went out.

Such was the difference between mythic power and the highest of mere epic strength.

When the sun had fully risen, the fighting at last fell silent. The Haradrim camp had become a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. Of seventy thousand, fewer than twenty thousand escaped, fleeing south in panic towards the port of Lond Daer.

A heavy stink of blood lay over the forest. Elven warriors leaned on their weapons and drew breath; some, spent beyond endurance, sank down upon the earth.

"Brother!" Prince Eluréd came to Elurín , and the blood on his sword dripped onto the grass, spreading into dark-red blossoms. That mighty prince was at the end of his strength, and he clung to his brother by sheer will, as in their youth in Beleriand when they had depended on one another alone.

Before sleep claimed him, he smiled and whispered, "This land is truly beautiful. This is our home. Darkness cannot…" His voice failed.

Elurín held him in silence, saying nothing, only stroking his face with a gentleness that seemed almost sorrowful beyond bearing.

Anariel spoke then, her gaze steady: "Kaen Eowenríel….That man was right. United Elves are stronger than any darkness."

Legolas looked southward and suddenly remembered the larger war. "They have fled towards Lond Daer. Will that affect Kaen Eowenríel's plan?"

Tauriel shook her head. "No. That place is the cage Kaen has prepared for them. What we must do now is rest, and then press on to Lond Daer."

, Anariel was directing the Noldor as they tended the wounded. Gandalf sat on a stone, watching the smoke rising through the forest, and the smoke of his pipe mingled with it until the two became as one grey veil beneath the morning.

Aragorn (Estel) came and stood beside him, his face grave. "I do not know how things fare at Laurenandë."

Gandalf blew a ring of smoke, and it drifted slowly away. "Reger's King's Guard has already gone there. I believe they can hold until Kaen Eowenríel arrives. You must remember, they are Vanyar, the strongest of the Elven kindreds, and their king is Ingwion."

Sunlight fell through the leaves in scattered shafts, lighting the bodies strewn upon the ground and gleaming dully on spilled steel. The Elves began to clear the field, to bury their fallen companions, and to burn the enemy dead.

Above the forest of Minhiriath, the reek of blood and the resin-sweet smell of burning pine were mingled together, composing a sorrowful song of victory and sacrifice.