Cuwe's sword flashed swiftly, killing or injuring the orcs that came within it's reach. He didn't behind him at the battle between Glorfindel and the Balrog-there was nothing he could do about it anyway. An orc rushed up behind him. Quickly he spun, his sword slicing it's head off.

Sirithadar's heart grew heavier within his chest, if that were possible, as he saw Glorfindel tiring. If their greatest surviving champion fell, who could stand up to the Balrog? Tuor was wounded and weak - archers would have almost no effect. He grunted and staggered as an orc head struck him, flying away from the body that Cuwe had just removed it from. As he staggered, though, he saw Aesuthiel receive a blow on her armor, and knew that it had to have broken her collarbone. Knowing there wasn't anything else he could do, he fought his way over to her, slashing through any orc that got in the way, and worked to clear a little more room so that she wouldn't have to work so much. A shout from behind alerted him, and he spun just in time to see Glorfindel leap at the Balrog, driving his sword, with two hands and a reversed grip, into the chest of the balrog. A ragged cheer went up among the refugees, a cheer that was suddenly cut short - the Balrog, dying and starting to fall off the edge of the precipice, grabbed hold of Glorfindel's long, golden hair, and held on. The elf flailed helplessly for a moment on the edge of the chasm, and then was pulled over by the weight of the larger creature. Sirithadar stared in shock, stunned. "NO!!!" he shouted, whirling around, his eyes wide and wild. The orcs, already quailing from the defeat of their leader, backed away at the sight of the wrath of the fugitives. A piercing cry echoed in the hills, and Sirithadar could have wept. The Eagles were coming, but too late. Gondolin was fallen, as were Ecthelion, and Turgon, and now Glorfindel. Still, they might yet help slay the orcs. With that thought in mind, he turned back to battle.

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Atalante froze, mouth open in agonized shock, her sword dangling from her hand. Glorfindel seemed to fall in slow motion. She could hardly believe he was gone...but as she stood, stunned, a searing pain slashed across her shoulder and she gave a cry, her sword dropping from her hand. She scooped it up and whirled to face the hideously grinning orc, his filthy sword dripping with blood - her blood. Atalante clumsily gripped the sword in her left hand, her right one dangling limply, and gritten her teeth. If Glorfindel could, so can I.

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"GLORFINDEL! NOOOOO!" A voice scream. Aesuthiel, tears steaming down her face hadn't realized she had been screaming. She ran forward at full speed, hoping in vain to perhaps help her brother. She would have gone over the cliff after him, but strong hands shot out of nowhere and hung on to her shoulders. "Let me go, I have to save my brother..." Aesuthiel sobbed as she fought against whoever was holding her back. Her voice felt thick and strange as if it was coming from someone else. "Let me go....please." She gave one last strangled plea before sinking to the ground, her body shaking violently from grief and exhaustion.

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Sirithadar turned his back to the orcs and lunged after Aesuthiel, catching her about the shoulders, and restraining her as gently as he could, trying to avoid her broken shoulderblade. "Aesuthiel, there's nothing you can do," Sirithadar said, only half-registering the fact that she had just spoken her first words in over thirty years. "He's gone. If you go after him, that would just make his sacrifice meaningless." He squeezed the last bit past the knot forming in his throat, tears starting to trickle down his face. He felt something thud into him from the side, and looked down to see an Orcish blade sticking out from it. Without a word, he snatched up his own sword and spitted the orc through the throat. The blade hadn't gone far in, but it was deep enough that it would weaken him given time. With a start, Sirithadar realized that one of the elven maidens, one who had been fighting among the warriors, had been wounded. With a cry of rage, he through the orc's weapon that had so recently wounded him, and hit the orc nearest to the maiden in the back. Without any armor to obstruct it, the blade sank in easily. Leaving Aesuthiel on the ground, Sirithadar struggled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his side, and stood ready to block any approaching orcs - in this state, Aesuthiel seemed to be unable to defend herself.

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((I'm assuming that was me? Er, Atalante, I mean?))

Atalante whirled in time to see the orc Sirithadar had slain fall at her feet. She bit back a scream - she would have been dead in moments, had he not seen. Gasping for breath, she too desperately fought her way to Aesuthiel, and turned, hoping against hope that the battle would be over soon.

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Aesuthiel sat at the edge of the cliff staring in shock down to where Glorfindel had fallen. She was to dazed to realize what was going on around her. It seemed as if she moved in a dream, her eyes fell on Glorfindel's sword that had fallen forgotten beside her, and a fresh wave of grief washed over her.

((I know you said Glorfindel stabbed the balrog with his sword, but can we pretend he pulled it out before he went over the edge. I really want to keep it. ))

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Cuwe watched in horror as the Balrog fell, taking Glorfindel with him. He stared at the empty space of sky where a moment before the two had been battling. Then he swung around with a harsh cry, attacking the wavering line of orcs with renewed fury. In his violent attack, he pushed himself harder and took more risky swings with his sword.

Yeah, you can keep it, Morwen. And yeah, I was referring to Atalante, Meldawen.

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Sirithadar slipped in a pool of blood and barely caught himself from falling, knocking an orcish blade away from him with the flat of his own blade, regaining his feet and his balance as fast as he could. Pulling his shield around in front of him again, he heard a rush in the air and waited, watching wearily as eagles suddenly swooped down upon the orcs, grabbing them in their talons throwing them over the edge of the precipice, or just knocking them over with their wings. Not saying a word, Sirithadar glanced down at Aesuthiel, sitting dazed at his feet. Hopefully she wouldn't do anything rash.

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Cuwe continued to fight almost frantically, until he turned around and didn't find any orcs within his sword's reach. Eagles were swooping around the battlefield, grabbing orcs and dropping them over the cliff. He lowered his sword, suddenly weary. Looking around, he saw Sirithadar and two of the female elves.

Atalante let her sword arm drop, trembling from the exertion, and sank to the ground, her wounded shoulder sending spurts of dizzying pain through her. She forced herself to breathe normally, seeing stars dance in front of her vision. "Are...are they gone..." she managed in a gasp, looking around.

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Aesuthiel cradled Glorfindel's sword in her arms, a vacant look on her face. The shock of his death had done more than make her speak again, she felt hollow wthout the will to keep going. The tears that had once flowed freely had stoped, the pain of her broken collar-bone seemed to ease the acking of her heart. "He went without me. He promised we would go together, it was never supposed to end this way. And now he's gone, and I'm still here, what have I to live for?" Her words sounded strange in her ears, as if she wasn't speaking them. Aesuthiel's voice had long gone out of practice and she slurred the words slightly.

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Erana was shocked when the Balrog fell together with Glorfindel, she stared at the now vacant place where the two of them were fighting just a few seconds before, her mouth was half open, she did feel as if she wouldn|t be albe to move her limbs anymore.

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Sirithadar shook his head helplessly, tears rolling down his face. "You have to live for these people, Aesuthiel - they need all the help they can get. You can help them, as Glorfindel did, or you can cause them more trouble by getting yourself killed."

He himself didn't care much for staying alive, but he knew that the refugees needed help. "The orcs are dead," he managed to squeeze out of his dry throat. He left Aesuthiel's side and managed to avoid stumbling as he walked over to where the maiden sat, blood coming from a wound in her shoulder. He reached to his side, then realized that he had dropped his pouch of food and supplies during the fight. Walking back over, he picked it up, rapidly finding some miruvor, and tearing a strip out of a tunic to serve as a bandage. Heading back over to the maiden, he showed them to her. "You need to get that taken care of," he said, motioning to her shoulder. "The miruvor will sting a bit, but it will help to clean the wound."

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As the battle-heat left Cuwe, he was tired and his limbs felt heavy. He sheathed his bloody sword and walked over to where Atalante stood. "Yes, they're gone." he said to her. She didn't look well. "Sit down." He said prefunctorily, trying to sound kind but not making it. "I'll try to find you something to drink."

Atalante looked up as though surprised to see Sirithadar there, and managed, "Oh - yes - I suppose so - thank you," she paused, then added softly, "I do not need the miruvor, though, others are wounded far worse than I."

She glanced at Cuwe with the faintest shadow of a smile. "I beg you, don't trouble yourself, I'm quite all right."

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