Fallen

How many times have I stood on this very spot, greeting the sunrise or watching a welcomed caravan or political delegation approach and leave my beloved city without incident? Always I wore formal robes or a comfortable tunic. Never armor, as I do now. Never before have I watched the doom of my people slowly advance upon us.

What, I wonder bitterly, has brought my people so low that we would do battle against our own kin? Why have we fallen so far?

We Elves are not gifted with magic or special powers like our sister Races. The Mother Creator gave us instead long life, and with it, wisdom. If we are as wise as is so widely proclaimed…

“How did it come to this?” I murmur my thoughts aloud as my son joins me, his golden hair blowing like a banner in the stiff breeze, eyes hard with grim determination.

“I do not know,” he replies softly. I glance at him, standing proud, his armor gleaming in the midday sun. Like me, he is born to lead.

The approaching army is close enough that I now see Goblins and Ogres among the Elves. It is like a slap to the face. Searching the fair faces of my fallen kin, I wonder how many of them truly want to be here, marching on Celetira, the last great city of Elven might and splendor. And yet, we are not so mighty now.

“Ready the catapults, Eldecor,” I say, drawing my sword slowly. Charging away, he shouts orders. My heart aches, knowing we may not speak again in this life.

But I steel myself and tighten my grip on my blade. We may fall this day, but we will fall fighting to the last moment. Songs of bitter lament will be written about the last stand of Lord Eldecar and the Elves of Celetira.

“Catapults ready!” Eldecor shouts, his own blade singing as he draws it forth. The magnificent sword reaches high, the steel gleaming in the sun. Behind us on the ground, wood and ropes creak as catapults prepare to fire. The enemy marches ever closer. “Fire!” Huge rocks and spiked balls fly over our heads to land amid the Goblins, Ogres, and Elves. I flinch at the noise of bones crushing. Anguished screams of the dying reach my sensitive ears. “Reload!” Eldecor cries.

“Archers!” I shout, raising my sword. The steel glitters in the light, beautiful and deadly. “Prepare to fire!” All around me I hear bowstrings being pulled taught, my archers waiting patiently for the order. The enemy is almost within range…almost…I take a deep breath, and shout, “Fire!” Arrows fly through the air, arcing gracefully before striking with fatal precision. Goblins and Elves fall in lines. It takes more arrows to fell the tougher-skinned Ogres. “Fire at will!”

Arrows and catapults slay hundreds, yet they barely make a dent in the sea of warriors that crashes against our walls like waves upon the shore.

“Sir, they have a battering ram!” one of my officers shouts. I lean over the wall to see the huge ram being carried towards our gates. I hear the same officer shout to soldiers on the ground, “Secure the gates!”

“Aim for the ram!” I shout. “Aim for the Goblins on the ram!” The archers closest turn to obey, though most are either otherwise occupied or too far away. I bite the inside of my cheek until the taste of blood fills my mouth as the huge ram of carved stone approaches. With every Goblin that is killed, another takes its place.

I feel the entire wall shake beneath my feet as the first blow lands on the gates with a deafening noise. “Kill them!” I cry. It is the first direct assault, and all thoughts of despair flee from me as I become completely absorbed in my city’s defense. “They must not breach the gates!”

“Ladders!” someone cries. I rush forward. The huge structures are slowly being raised. Some ladders fall back as the catapults continue to hurl the spiked balls over the wall. Others make it up. One rests directly in front of me, and I instantly try to push it back. Two soldiers by me help, but it is too heavy.

An Elf is the first to climb up. Damn them! They are forcing us to slay our own kin! I mechanically bring my sword up in a powerful thrust. Bright red blood splatters across my armor, and the Elf falls backwards to the ground far below with a choked gasp.

For a moment, everything seems muted – leagues away – as I stagger backwards, staring at my blade and watching the blood slide down to pool at my feet. My place is instantly filled by another Elf as he moves to strike the Ogre that follows the Elf.

Ordering the archers to fire was easy. Down below, I could imagine them all to be hideous Ogres and Goblins, but no longer. I cannot continue to pretend – I have killed another Elf, a brother. Such a thing has never taken place in Celetira.

“My lord! My Lord Eldecar! Are you hurt, sir?”

I look up at the Elf who stands before me, blood on his own sword. “No,” I say finally. “No, young one; I am well. Thank you.”

Time compresses, hardly passing at all, it seems, and yet hours go by. Night comes and goes, and all the while we fight desperately. As dawn approaches on night’s dark heels, a glimmer of hope pierces my equally dark thoughts. Perhaps we will be victorious after all!

As though triggered by that thought, the gates splinter with a huge, sickening crack, louder than any before. I fight my way towards that part of the wall. “Secure the gates!” I shout. “Do not let them in!” My warriors are trying their best, but it is simply not enough; they are beginning to tire. The gates are rammed again and again until, finally, the enemy breaks through. Above the din I hear my son shouting orders to his men. Relief that he lives is quickly overwhelmed by the cry coming from my own lips: “The city is breached! Pull back! Pull back!” I stand still as my warriors rush past, obeying my orders. Goblins and Ogres are streaming in, gnashing their teeth and defiling my city with their very breath.

Eldecor appears at my side, covered in blood and dirt. His hair is black in appearance now, rather than golden. “Father, come! The last of the women and children are fleeing through the mountain tunnels; we must cover their retreat!”

“Go with them,” I say suddenly, turning to him. “Flee with them.”

Eldecor looks insulted even as we race to follow our soldiers. “Father, I am a soldier!” Glancing behind me, I grab Eldecor’s arm and pull him into an abandoned building unnoticed by the Goblins, who pass without a glance. I lead my son to the basement of the building where a door leads to emergency tunnels.

“You are a leader, Eldecor,” I say, grasping him by the shoulders. “This city has fallen, and with it our entire Race!” Eldecor opens his mouth to protest, but I press on. “You must lead our people who manage to escape this, my son. Lead them wisely and well, and never let them forget what we Elves once were! There is no shame in that!”

“But Father, what of you?”

“As a captain sinks with his ship, so a lord falls with his city. Do not let today’s sacrifice be in vain, Eldecor!” After a moment of hesitation, Eldecor nods. I pull him into a tight embrace, wishing we did not have to part like this. Fighting my own tears, I step back. “Go. Use the tunnels.”

“I love you, Father.” Tears have traced pale lines through the blood and grime on his face.

“I love you, my son.” I take another step back, resting my hand on my sword. “Go.” Without another word, he strides to the door, not looking back as it clicks shut behind him. Ai, Mother Creator, protect him!

Taking a deep breath, I leave the building, engaging Goblins and Elves immediately. “To me, Elves of Celetira! To me!”

“Celetira for Eldecar!” comes the answering cry. We fight with renewed energy, knowing that we will fall, but filled with bloodlust and the desire to take as many of these foul beings down with us as we can.

When the end comes, I stand alone. My sword is taken. I am dragged unceremoniously to the center of the city, to the square where so many joyful celebrations have taken place in happier times. Now it is stained with blood and grief.

The commander of the enemy stands in the center of the square, grinning triumphantly. Unlike me, he has done no fighting at all. He has simply watched as Celetira has fallen at the hands of his twisted army. Rage fills me, and I struggle to escape my captors. At the moment I want nothing more than to run my sword through his throat.

“O how the mighty have fallen!” Our once-beautiful language sounds foul on his lips as he laughs at me. “Lord Eldecar, the last of the resistance!” Relief washes over me, though I force it from my face. Surely if he knew of the refugees fleeing into the mountains he would say so, use them to taunt me in my failure.

“It is not too late for you, Eldecar,” he is saying, idly examining his sword. “You can still join us. You could be powerful…”

That he would even suggest such a thing sickens me. I spit at his feet, silent. I would never betray my fallen comrades – my son! – like that.

His eyes simply take on a sadistic gleam. “I thought that might be your response – weak fool that you are.” His sword flashes. I close my eyes just before it plunges deep into my chest, piercing my heart and driving life and breath from me.

The world will never be the same.