a glorious screaming sound as we lurched forward for the first time
a tortured, twisted scraping as metal learned to move against metal, the
friction of iron and bronze caressing each other, a song of frozen fear
learning to thaw in a Balrogs heat. It was drawn out the way a scream
of climax echoes the cries of creation like the echo of his own
scream once drew the dark fires to Lammoth, when he learned for himself
what it was like to be penetrated by the thirsting dark.
I checked the edge of my blade against my thumb it felt bright
and perfect and fine. I leaned it gently against the arm of the sleeping
body beside me it drew a line of dark beaded blood without waking
him. I was very pleased.
Soon I would
be happy to know that those I allowed to encounter its edge could feel
it, but I wanted to be sure the razor
keenness would buy my way into the city first.
After that there was little to do but savour the flickering shadows,
the scent of heat, the taste of oil on steel that rose all around me
and think about the surprise the rising sun would bring to Gondolin. Would
they have cherished their watchful silence tonight if they knew that the
song that greeted the morning sun would be in our tongue the
scream of battle, the screech of shock, the shriek of death. Nost-na-Lothion!
Good! Let the flowers bloom on your ill-gotten graves.
Smug elves - think they have it all figured out, who they are, what
they are, why. They think they invented beauty, and no one else can
Yet they are so blind to others they can only see beauty in themselves.
They pride themselves on the way they delight in every little blade
grass yet they look upon our dark Lord and fail to see the glow
of his ferocious fire. They woke up one night and someone told them they
were born for love and purpose that the very stars were made for
them and they believe it! Well, thats how elves are
tell them they are wonderful, the crown of creation why would they
question that. It does seems like a great way to shut them up. What do
they know? They woke in the dark, and they are being kept in the dark.
Ask them about their souls and where their precious fëas will
end up and see if they still seem so superior.
We know where we stand squarely on the ground. We have no
promises of time or of the West. We have to take what we want now.
I dont need some stupid story about how I came to be. I am. And
if I wanted a creation, what fiction could I devise to rival my reality
as I ride towards Gondolin in the belly of death, wedged in tooth by claw
with more death!! The shrieking sound of metal in motion, the taste
of copper and steel like blood in the back of the throat, the waves of
heat that rise off the demonspawn and their whips the press
of immense yet indifferent hate.
I ride in the crucible of my conception. My deeds are my birth, my
breath. I am not a soldier, I am a weapon, razor-sharp and fearless!
was ever born in a finer flame? If those close minded elves cant
see the beauty of sparks flying outward from the forge cant
see them as the stars our maker set for us
well, those who
refuse to see fall into their own folly.
I felt my
blood and anger rise as the
belly of the metal serpent roared against the walls of their stupidity.
What will protect you now from our risen loathing? The hot blood-filled
air of the city felt cold as the serpent shed its skin to release
wrath. We are more than ready.
to tell us we were made from elves. Think on that, you puny, leaf-eared
when you think about
beauty and purpose. You were just the raw material. You are pig-iron
and we are steel. We have been remade, refined, perfected - fashioned,
and forged for fury.
Here we come.
This is for
Jim, who thought I could do it...
Notes: This was written as part of the crossover challenge at Henneth
Annun, where I was asked to write about a race in Middle Earth that I
had never written about. (I generally write about the race of men, especially
Dunedain of the north and South.)
story came from: The other night waiting for dinner, Jimwas telling me
about the siege of Gondolin, and mentioned (he's an engineer and he often
notices different things in a text than I do) that some of the dragons
were mechanical constructs, and a host of orcs rode inside like a Trojan
horse and poured out into the city.
I could not stop thinking about what would make a living being ride inside
a dragon with a Balrog rider. I could not get the taste of hot metal out
of my mouth. And I kept thinking about orcs being made from/in mockery
of the elves and wondering what elven smugness would look like if it manifested
on that side
and the terrible fierce thought of orc beauty.
Here is the
passage: The Book of Lost Tales II p. 177:
But now Gothmog lord of Balrogs, captain of the hosts of Melko, took counsel
and gathered all his things of iron that could coil themselves around
and above all obstacles before them. These he bade pile themselves before
the northern gate; and behold, their great spires reached even to its
threshold and thrust at the towers and bastions about it, and by reason
of the exceeding heaviness of their bodies those gates fell, and great
was the noise thereof: yet the most of the walls around them still stood
firm. Then the engines and the catapults of the king poured darts and
boulders and molten metals on those ruthless beasts, and their hollow
bellies clanged beneath the buffeting, yet it availed not for they might
not be broken, and the fires rolled off them. Then were the topmost opened
about their middles, and an innumerable host of the Orcs, the goblins
of hatred, poured therefrom into the breach; and who shall tell of the
gleam of their scimitars or the flash of the broad-bladed spears with
which they stabbed?
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