The sky was dark and heavy. The slaughter that had begun in the morning had raged on until dusk, and still both sides fought with all the strength left in their limbs.
Yet at last the allied host, under the command of several legendary heroes and dozens of epic ones, had forced the battle line all the way back to the shores of Mirrormere. There, for a brief moment, the fighting slackened and both sides drew breath.
All knew that what came next would be the true battle of life and death.
The numbers of the dark host had been cut nearly in half, plain to the eye. The alliance, for its part, had also lost a great portion of its strength.
All the ground between the lines was carpeted with broken limbs and severed torsos. The snow that had once lain white upon the valley floor was stained black and red with filth and blood.
Kaen Eowenríel glanced inward at his panel.
Level: 6 (699 / 700).
To drive himself as close to his peak as possible he had joined the fighting earlier, reaping foes by the score. Yet at the very brink of leveling up he had forced himself to stop.
Each time he advanced a level, wounds were purged from his body and his strength was restored to its fullness.
So Kaen meant to hold that step in reserve and take it in the midst of his duel with the Balrog, making full use of the surge that followed.
"Wooo..."
From within the black mist a war-horn sounded again. Kaen's eyes flashed with light, and he saw a new host pouring out from Moria. It could only be the enemy's last reserves, their final picked troops.
For with that army came something else. From beyond the Dimrill Gate Kaen could feel a presence, a pressure like a crown of iron and flame, a malice almost painful to endure.
He knew then that the Balrog was there, standing in the dark just behind the gate, waiting as he was waiting, watching for the perfect moment to enter the fray.
"Wooo..."
Suddenly another horn-call answered, but this time it rose from behind the allied lines.
At the entrance of the valley, where the ground was heaped with dead, there marched in an Elven host clad in bright silver mail, their armor shining like frost under starlight as they moved into Dimrill Dale
At their head rode one of the rulers of Lothlórien, Celeborn.
Long years beneath the blue Sacred Tree Lúna Olonta had raised the Galadhrim of Lothlórien to a stature the sindar and the silvan elves of middle-earth didn't think possible before. Their spirits had grown keen and bright, and their bodies were cloaked in a clear radiance of elemental power. This was a mighty host, ten thousand strong.
Celeborn himself had in these years ascended to the rank of a top Legendary hero.
The allies opened their ranks so that the Elven army could pass through to the very front of the field.
"Lord Celeborn."
Kaen stepped forward and bowed. Since he had wed Arwen Undómiel, this Elven lord was, after a fashion, his grandsire.
Celeborn returned the bow and said, "From the moment you came to Lothlórien to seek the dew of the Sacred Tree, I knew such a war as this would follow. The numbers of the dark host were too great to ignore. So Galadriel sent word of it to every friendly power of her own will. I have brought with me Lothlórien's mightiest host, the Galadhrim Guard Legion, to lend you our strength."
"Our thanks, Lord Celeborn."
The Dwarf-kings stepped forward and bowed as well.
Celeborn said, "The Orcs of the Misty Mountains have joined the struggle. That alone tells us that the outcome here will shape more than the fate of the Dwarves. Whether the lands around the mountains know peace in the next fifty years or drown in war will be decided in this valley. So I am not the only one who has come."
As his words fell, the horns sounded again at the entrance of Dimrill Dale
A still larger army was advancing into the valley.
"That is the host of the Woodland Realm."
Laughter broke out among some of the Dwarves.
"Ha, the sharp-eared kings arrive in fine time. We have this war won."
"Victory, victory."
In that moment the morale of the alliance soared to its highest peak. An answering shout rose from every throat.
To Kaen's surprise the army of the Woodland Realm was not led by Thranduil, but by Aragorn and Legolas. The two who had gone long ago, to wander in distant lands, had now returned to their people .
They came before Kaen and bowed deeply.
Aragorn, now bearded and far more seasoned than in his youth, smiled. "It has been too long, elder brother."
Kaen embraced him and clapped his shoulder. "I can feel how far you have grown."
"It was your teaching that profited me so greatly," Aragorn answered.
Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm stepped forward and bowed. "We had meant to journey to the far east. But when we heard of this war we turned aside. There is nowhere that tempers a will more keenly than the field of battle."
Kaen laughed. "Then learn well. Soon I will cross blades with a being that the world calls a god. You will not often see such a thing."
After a few more brief words they turned back to their work. The lines were rearranged. All the wounded were brought to the rear, and in their place the Elves of Lothlórien and the Woodland Realm stepped into the front ranks.
Night fell.
Kaen's power had risen to its highest pitch. The blaze that flowed from him drove the darkness out of Dimrill Dale, so that the stars and the moon could shine down into the valley once more.
Darkness was the home ground of the enemy. In the black they were most swift and vicious. Even with several hundred meters between the lines, the harsh voices and snarls of the dark host could be heard.
Kaen stepped up onto a great boulder and drew his sword. "Warriors of the Free Peoples," he cried, "for the sake of our alliance."
"March!"
The Dwarf-kings, the Elven lords, and all the heroes leapt forward at the head of their troops. Wrapped in holy radiance, the hundred thousand of the alliance charged toward the enemy.
"Night has fallen, darkness without end. Crush them."
The shrill voices of the dark priests screamed out over their host. At once every monster in the black ranks went mad. Their pent-up savagery burst loose and they hurled themselves forward.
The two mighty hosts spread out like opposing seas, then crashed together like colliding waves. When they met the very earth seemed to tremble with the impact.
The battle-cry of the alliance and the howling of the dark army twined together into a wild, overwhelming symphony. In the front ranks warriors smashed into one another. The sharp ring of steel on steel, the muffled crack of breaking bone, the dying screams of the fallen rose and fell without cease, echoing along the sides of the valley.
The arrows of the Elven archers fell like silver rain upon the dark host. Each shaft carried a pale halo of elemental light, punching clean through the crude armor and thick hides of the Orcs and bursting black blood in fans across the trampled snow.
Among the enemy the war-beasts and trolls stormed forward on sheer mass, trampling warriors underfoot and clubbing others away with their iron-shod maces.
Dwarven warriors met them axe and hammer in hand, crashing into the Orcish lines like moving fortresses. Each swing of their weapons hewed down enemies and flung bloody limbs aside.
The Elven fighters moved like flickering light. Their swords traced shining arcs as they wove through the Orcish ranks. Wherever they passed, bodies fell.
Still the dark army's numbers seemed endless. More Orcs clambered over the corpses of their comrades and surged forward, hammering at the allied lines again and again, driving them toward the point of breaking, only to be thrown back once more in furious counter-attacks.
No one knew how long the slaughter had lasted when Kaen, who had been standing with sword in hand behind the frontmost ranks, at last opened his eyes fully. His gaze burned as he looked toward the Dimrill Gate.
There, a power had awakened, evil and oppressive.
From beyond the gate came the roar of bursting magma. Blinding fire flared in the darkness, and a towering shape wreathed in flame stepped into view at last.
The Balrog had come.