Chapter 16
It was a starless, moonless night, and a thick darkness like solidified pitch weighed heavily on the vast plains north of Beleriand. After the relatively peaceful period of the Siege of Angband, the defenses of the alliance of the Noldor, Sindar, and Edain had inevitably relaxed their vigilance. This fatal oversight was soon consumed by the infernal flames of hell.
The catastrophe did not come quietly, but erupted with the most violent and unstoppable force. From the depths of the towering peaks of Thangorodrim, spewing poisonous flames and thick smoke year-round, the earth's wailing was heard. Then, as if the earth's veins had been torn, a torrent of red-hot molten lava, carrying acrid sulfurous smoke and burning boulders, poured madly down from the rifts in the Iron Mountains! This was no natural wrath, but the prelude to a torrent of destruction, carefully planned and long-simmering, by Morgoth.
The flames, like a ravenous crimson beast, devoured everything at alarming speed. The once lush, flower-speckled plains of Ardgalan were instantly transformed into a scorched, smoking, barren desert, a land of death and ash. The meticulously deployed outposts of the Noldor were like paper toys, vulnerable to the waves of fire and the torrent of destruction that followed. Many outposts were burned to the ground in the raging flames before they could even sound the alarm.
The sea of fire was not the only threat. Amidst the billowing smoke and scorching air waves, a huge, terrifying shadow emerged - the evil dragon Glaurung. This time, it was no longer the young dragon of the past, but a dragon with terrible strength and a cunning mind. It roared deafeningly and led a huge army composed of terrifying fire demons and orcs that surged like a tide. It stepped on the still burning scorched earth and launched a full-scale charge towards the unsuspecting coalition positions!
The allied forces were caught unawares, leaving them no time to mount a viable defense. In an instant, their lines were torn and overwhelmed. Brave warriors were consumed by the flames or, in their desperate resistance, torn apart by the flaming lashes of the Balrog or the blades of the Orcs. Chaos, screams, cries of despair, and the piercing clash of blades resounded through the air. The heights of Dorthonion were engulfed in flames, and the foothills of Mount Wethrin were ablaze, as if the whole world were ablaze.
Meereen journeyed through this inferno, no longer a simple forest guardian, but a crucial medical officer in the coalition. His tent, long engulfed in flames, now clad in a cloak stained with blood and soot, he labored amidst the shredded limbs and cries of the dying. His hands flew, a pale green healing light pulsing, striving to stabilize the dying warriors and ease their pain. He had witnessed too many familiar, young faces vanish in flames or blades, a feeling of powerlessness threatening to overwhelm him. The air was filled with the stench of scorched flesh and blood, and every breath burned his throat. But he could not stop, his strength a single remaining point of light in this abyss of despair.
News spread like an avalanche to the allied headquarters. Fingolfin listened to the herald's trembling, tearful reports of the battle—defenses crumbled, fortresses fell, countless people and allies perished, and his beloved eldest son, Fingon, was once trapped in flames, his whereabouts unknown... Rage and despair boiled in his noble chest like boiling magma. It was not just the pain of losing territory, but also the ultimate grief for the fate of the entire Noldor, and for the wanton trampling of light by darkness!
The dam of reason was completely broken by the raging rage. Fingolfin was no longer a king who planned and strategized, but a warrior who was driven into a desperate situation by fate. He did not wear heavy armor, but only grabbed his sword, the long sword Ringil that shone like ice, and mounted his loyal snow-white warhorse Rohral. Like a silver lightning of revenge, he rushed out of the crumbling camp alone and rushed towards the hellish Black Gate of Angband!
Meereen had just exhausted his strength, having rescued a nearly scorched Elf warrior from the brink of death, when he was nearly staggered by exhaustion. At that moment, he sensed a familiar, resolute presence moving at alarming speed from the center of the battlefield, heading straight for the darkest core of Angband. "High King!" Meereen's heart rang with alarm, a sense of foreboding gripping him. Fingolfin's solitary act was tantamount to suicide. He immediately gathered the few remaining Elven warriors who could still move and formed a small group. "Follow me! Protect your majesty!" Desperately, they rode in pursuit of the resolute silver light. As they breathlessly arrived at Angband's massive, hideous Black Gate, emanating endless evil and despair, the sight they encountered was enough to shatter the heart of even the bravest warrior.
Fingolfin stood in front of the Black Gate, his warhorse Roharor neighing and trembling with fear. He held Ringil high in the air and blew a long horn towards the bottomless darkness, which shook the earth and was filled with endless grief and defiance. The sound of the horn penetrated the clamor of the battlefield and reached the core of Morgoth's dark throne!
The abyss trembled. The dark lord Morgoth, a terrifying figure as huge as a mountain and clad in heavy black armor, was actually angered by this lone challenge and appeared! He held the destructive hammer Grond, and a heavy sword burning with evil flames hung at his waist. He walked out of his fortress with steps that made the earth tremble.
It was a desperate duel, a lopsided one. Fingolfin held no advantage over Morgoth. However, the High King's courage and swordsmanship were beyond imagination. Like a nimble swallow, he darted around the massive shadow. Ringil's swordsmanship transformed into deadly rays of cold light, leaving seven deep wounds on Morgoth's armor! Morgoth roared in agony, his dark blood dripping like pitch, burning the earth.
However, the disparity in strength and size was ultimately insurmountable. After a feint, Morgoth seized upon Fingolfin's moment of evasion and hurled the massive Gromund at him with devastating force! Fingolfin barely dodged the blow, only to be sent stumbling by the wind. In that split second, the cunning Morgoth drew his greatsword from his waist. The blade, blazing with hellfire, silently and fatally struck Fingolfin's unprotected back!
"Your Majesty!" Milin's eyes were bloodshot. He was the closest to the enemy and without any hesitation, he pushed his body's speed and potential to the extreme and pounced forward like an arrow!
At the critical moment! Milin used all his strength to push Fingolfin away!
Phew——!
A teeth-grinding cutting sound was heard!
The greatsword, with Morgoth's unparalleled strength, brutally and unhinderedly cut Meereen's body in two from the waist! Blood, hot blood that shimmered with a strange glimmer, gushed out like a fountain! The blood splattered all over Fingolfin, who was close at hand, and also splashed on Morgoth's huge chest covered with black armor!
The wounds on Fingolfin's body, inflicted during the fierce battle, even the scrapes from the recent collision, healed with remarkable speed the moment they came into contact with Meereen's blood. Flesh regenerated, scars vanished, as if he had never been injured. A warm and powerful force surged through his limbs, dispelling fatigue and pain, leaving him feeling an unprecedented sense of exhilaration. This was the purest blessing of life and light!
Morgoth, however, let out an unprecedented, soul-twisting howl of agony. His heavy chest armor, splattered with Meereen's blood, corroded as if by the strongest acid, emitting a terrifying "sizzling" sound and billowing smoke! The solid dark metal quickly turned black, softened, and collapsed, revealing the equally charred and festering flesh beneath! The wound was huge and hideous, deep enough to see the bone, emitting a stench of burnt and purified evil! This power from the very source of Meereen's life inflicted severe corrosive damage on Morgoth, a dark being!
The severe pain caused Morgoth's huge body to shake violently, and his movements stopped instantly!
"Now!" Fingolfin came back to his senses in an instant from his shock, and seized the fatal moment when Morgoth's door was wide open due to severe pain. He roared, accumulating all the strength in his body, and Ringil burst out with an unprecedented bright cold light. With unparalleled will for revenge and the divine blessing he had just obtained, he stabbed Morgoth's ankle that supported his body accurately and fiercely!
Snap!
A heart-pounding sound of bones breaking!
Morgoth's left ankle, which was like a giant pillar, was pierced by Ringil, and black blood gushed out like a flood.
"Ah—!" Morgoth roared in agony, his huge body unable to support itself any longer, and collapsed forward! Terrified, he no longer dared to stop, frantically crawling backwards with his remaining feet and huge hands, while roaring deafeningly to summon his minions!
"Protect the master!" Balrogs and Orcs poured out of the Black Gate like a tide, rushing towards Fingolfin desperately, trying to cover Morgoth's retreat.
Fingolfin did not pursue. He only had eyes for the young figure who was cut in half to save him - Meereen! He recognized him, having met him once at the summer feast in Gondolin, a young man from the southern forest with a strange talent.
"No, child!" Fingolfin was overcome with grief. He stumbled to the severed body of Meereen. The sight before him was horrible. He despaired that even the most powerful healer of the elves could not heal such a horrible wound. Tears blurred the eyes of the High King.
Yet, Meereen's upper body was still twitching slightly. His eyes, on his bloodstained face, struggled to open a crack, their gaze filled with pain, yet without the bleakness of death. In a faint, broken voice, as if using up his last bit of strength, he said, "Your Majesty... Don't be sad... Put... Put me... back together..."
Fingolfin thought he had misheard, or perhaps it was just Meereen's mumbling in agony. But Meereen's eyes were incredibly persistent, filled with an undeniable plea. Despite the immense grief and sense of absurdity that filled his heart, Fingolfin, with tears in his eyes and trembling hands, carefully dragged Meereen's severed lower half towards him, enduring the intense physical discomfort as he tried to align the horrific broken ends.
What happened next completely overturned the understanding of Fingolfin and all the elves who had just arrived at the Black Gate and witnessed Morgoth's escape and the current scene.
Meereen's flesh, broken apart, began to squirm, grow, and intertwine frantically, as if possessing a life of its own! Broken blood vessels reconnected automatically, and shattered bones creaked softly as they stretched and connected like living things! The wounds to his internal organs healed rapidly! Even more incredible, the edges of the cut skin began to fuse and draw together like melted wax, eventually completely closing together without leaving even a trace of a scar.
Meereen's body trembled violently. Though painful, it was filled with a thrilling, counterintuitive vitality. In less than a quarter of an hour, Meereen's severed body miraculously reconnected! Aside from the blood and torn clothing, it was as if the horrific, fatal wound had never occurred! After this, Meereen seemed to have exhausted all his vitality. His body limp, he completely lost consciousness, sinking into a deep, unresponsive state of the living dead. But his chest still rose and fell faintly, proving that life was still there.
The only sounds in front of the Black Gate were the clamor of Morgoth's minions fleeing and the sounds of fighting on the distant battlefield. All the elves present, including the supreme Fingolfin, seemed to be petrified, staring in amazement at the intact but unconscious body on the ground. The expressions on their faces were a mixture of extreme shock, disbelief, confusion, and a kind of awe as if facing a miracle.
"As above..." An elven warrior muttered to himself, drawing the symbol of the Valar.
"His blood... burned Morgoth! Healed His Majesty!" another warrior who witnessed the whole process shouted excitedly, his voice trembling with shock.
"He worked miracles in Gondolin..." Galdor couldn't help but add, his voice choking. "He saved dying children, soothed raging beasts... His song made dead trees flourish..."
At this moment, Finrod and Fingon finally led their reinforcements and broke through the siege and arrived at the Black Gate. The first thing they saw was the chaotic scene of Morgoth's escape, and then their eyes were drawn to Meereen lying unconscious on the ground and Fingolfin and others surrounding him in a trance.
Finrod's gaze swept over Meereen's intact body, then took in the terrified, hesitant expressions of the surrounding elves. Suddenly, a clear understanding dawned on him. His worst fears had come true. The secret of Meereen's immortality, the incredible power of his blood, had been exposed to too many on this most chaotic and anticipated battlefield. Like a boulder dropped into a lake, the secret stirred up ripples that would never subside.
He immediately stepped forward, removed his cloak, and gently draped it over Meereen, concealing the bloodstained yet intact garments and, as if to conceal the disturbing truth, the truth. "Lord Fingolfin!" Finrod supported the still-shaken Fingolfin, his voice low and rapid. "Morgoth is wounded, but the war is far from over! The allied forces need you! Please return immediately to take charge and stabilize the troops. Leave this... to me." His eyes were filled with pleading and unquestionable determination.
Fingolfin cast a long glance at the unconscious Meereen, then at Finrod. He understood Finrod's intention. He suppressed the turmoil within him, nodded, and straightened his royal stance. His voice regained its authority, though with a barely perceptible raspingness: "Fingon, follow me back to the camp! Reorganize the defenses and pursue the remaining enemy!" He had a responsibility for his entire clan.
Finrod watched Fingolfin and his son depart, then immediately ordered his trusted followers to carefully carry Meereen onto a stretcher and place him under close protection. He was filled with anxiety. The secrets of Meereen would surely spread throughout Beleriand with this earth-shattering battle. Would this young man face a blessing or a curse?
Just as the king of Meereen fell into the deepest state of the living dead, his consciousness was gently pulled away from the battlefield full of pain and scorched earth by an irresistible, warm and vast force.
He felt as if he were drifting through a dazzling galaxy, billions of stars dotting the deep purple velvet sky like diamonds. Time and space lost their meaning. Finally, he landed lightly on a land whose beauty defied description.
This was the Garden of Lórien, the abode of Irmo, Lord of Dreams, and his wife, Esti, Comforter of Wounds. The air was like the purest crystal, filled with a fragrance that reached deep into the soul, not the scent of ordinary flowers, but the scent of sleep, healing, and eternal peace itself. Massive trees, emitting a soft silver glow, grew thick and luxuriant, their leaves like emerald, their veins threaded with the essence of starlight. Grass lay soft as cloud beneath, dotted with strange flowers, their petals like condensed moonlight, their stamens throbbing with tiny, living points of light. In the distance lay a tranquil lake, its surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting the eternal stars and the ever-changing colors of the aurora across the sky.
Meereen felt as if all the pain, fatigue, and noise of war had been completely washed away, leaving only a deep peace.
At this moment, a figure appeared in front of him. She did not "walk" towards him, but rather naturally condensed and formed from this quiet light and shadow.
Her beauty transcends mortal cognition. She clads in a robe whose fabric seemed woven from the softest twilight and the first rays of dawn. As she silently moved, it shimmered with a tranquil silver and lavender glow. Her hair flowed like a waterfall on a tranquil night, its darkness shimmering with starlight. Her face was calm and filled with compassion. Her deep eyes, like the most tranquil lake, reflected the stars and memories of the beginning of creation, holding a gentleness that healed all pain and a wisdom that penetrated all essences. Her very presence was a powerful healing force, one that drew in both reliance and confiding. A gentle aura emanated from her, a light that illuminated not external objects but soothed every soul that approached her, dispelling the darkness and pain within.
She approached Meereen silently without speaking, but her thoughts flowed directly into Meereen's heart like the clearest spring water, carrying endless love and a hint of imperceptible worry.
"Suffering child... Your path is more unpredictable than the paths of the stars... Your sacrifice is remembered, but your secret is like a stone cast into a still lake... When you awaken, you will face a storm more scorching than the flames of Angband..."
Esti slowly raised her hand, her fingertips shrouded in a soft glow like dewdrops condensed from moonlight, and gently touched Meereen's brow. An indescribable, vast, and warm power instantly enveloped him, as if repairing the cracks in his soul caused by excessive exhaustion and great trauma, and at the same time, imprinting the eternal memory of this sacred garden and the Soothsayer of the Valar in the depths of his consciousness.
In the divine light of the Valar, Meereen's consciousness sank into a deeper, more peaceful rest, waiting to awaken again in the mortal world to face a future completely changed by the exposure of the undead. The War of Sudden Flame burned the land and also burned the walls that Meereen had hidden itself.
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