Middle-earth Fan Fiction: The Journey

I was born in the hidden city, in the refuge of hope: Gondolin the Beautiful, the one with seven names, the one founded by our Lord Turgon to escape from the shadow and give refuge to the dispossessed, and thus continue the fight against the Enemy.

Like my brothers and sisters, I was born in the fire of the depths of the earth and tempered my body on the high peaks of the Encircling Mountains. Being very young I tried myself in battle and spilled the blood of Orcs, always being a source of pride among my people and a faithful companion to my comrades in arms.

Until the fall.

Sad is the song and not all the Ages in the world could make me forget the horrors that I saw there, but be  it enough to say that if I did not fall in battle with so many other warriors who left for Mandos that day, it was not for lack of determination. I fought for as long as I could, against Orc, Balrog and Dragon—until the darkness took hold of me.

When I felt a hand rest on me, I thought that at last I had received some help but, alas, it was not written in my destiny that it was. Instead, that deformed limb belonged to one of the Enemy’s servants, the one who took me for himself as his prisoner and slave. This is how my sad story began at the hands of those who I had sworn would fall under my edge, wherever I found them.

Long and painful was our march, all prisoners, each wishing more than the last that death had taken us rather than having to live one more day under the shadow. However, defeated as we were, I could still see in the expressions of my comrades that yes, we could be forced to serve and fight, but that they would never manage to dominate us or break our will. Those who had trained us had given us a good teaching and, if we could not win, we would at least do great damage to all who possessed us and had a heart stained by darkness.

This is how we arrived at the gates of death, the center of corruption and hatred: Angband, place of darkness and misery, rotting heart of the dark and impenetrable fortress of the Bauglir, where we would spend the first part of our sentence.

What can I say about our time in that horrifying place?

At first there were feasts and celebrations for the great triumph and, although I was never in his presence, the generals commented that their Lord was happy and laughed out loud at the splendor of his stratagem.

Even at those dinners, I, along with my sisters, were raffled off as trophies and even given new names. Great was then our humiliation when they forced us to taste the flesh of other prisoners, worthy comrades in arms who also suffered under the yoke of the Enemy.

It was not long after that these miserable creatures tried to corrupt us and put us to their service in the war. Great was their surprise when they discovered that our steels remained perpetually nicked, incapable of causing further damage. There were some who proclaimed that the best thing would be to break us permanently, but none of our owners wanted to lose their war trophy. As a result, we were locked in the deepest dungeons, condemned to oblivion and perpetual darkness. But even in our most desperate hour, none of us lost hope…

The one that was amply rewarded with the arrival of the Valar and the War of Wrath.

We had to be the only ones happy and bright in the midst of the panic that took hold of the Enemy and his monsters, and indeed our daring was great, because we longed to be part of that long-awaited triumph. Perhaps it was because of our excessive pride that Ilúvatar arranged that this was not to be the end of our story.

Because, in the midst of the hecatomb that was unleashed on the surface, a group of minor servants seized us and forced us to escape with them. And although we rebelled and tested their flesh with our now renewed steels, we tried in vain to twist what was written; strong was the hide of these creatures and, to our amazement, their wounds regenerated until our cuts disappeared. At the time we knew that we were truly doomed, and accepted our fate once and for all.

Another long march was the one that returned us to the outside world, but these vile creatures deprived us of seeing the light, so much they feared the greater star (and, I hope, our fierce effort to end them).

Then came a time of decadence and oblivion, in which we were passed from hand to hand without any of our owners being close to being legitimate. Because it was the time of the emergence of other evils, small compared to the Enemy of the World, but great for those who now had to face them. And we were slaves of Orcs and Men corrupted by the shadow—until three thieves robbed me and two of my sisters, and took us on their escape.

“Why did you have to steal them?” said one.

“Because you can’t do anything without spoiling it, can you, William?” added another.

“Hush, Bert!” said the aforementioned. “You should thank me for saving us from certain death. Besides, they will serve us well,” he added, referring to us. “Now follow me!”

And that’s how we left the northern lands and went into places that we had never seen. These monstrosities that fled from the light traveled only at night, and during the day they hid in caverns where they devoured their poor victims, whether they were men or beasts, sleeping next to their remains and other filth.

In addition to these and other discomforts, my sisters and I had to listen to their endless discussions about what to do, where to go, or how long to keep on escaping. Anyone who had listened to them would have lost their mind, I tell you!

It was for this reason that we were grateful that, when the sun fell on this day, the three of them decided to go out and hunt for something to eat. Of course they couldn’t even agree on that, because Bert wanted to eat men and Tom supported him, all in order to oppose William and his plans. When they finally decided to hunt whatever they could find, a new discussion broke out about what they would do with us. Finally, William decided that it would be better to hide us in case of any problem and, fearing that the other two would betray him, he locked the stone door that blocked the entrance to the cavern, putting they key in his pocket and laughing as he walked away.

And so they left me and my sisters, Glamdring and Orcrist, locked up again and waiting for our fate to place us in the hands of bearers worthy of our edge, forge, and bravery.

P.S.: This story was written in 2013 and received an award in a small contest of a Smial of the Chilean Tolkien Society. I present it here without major changes to the version that I submitted to the contest.

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