History rembered this night as a collapse.
Finrod was saved by Barahir, but the western defenses still broke. Orc armies flooded through the gap, striking the High King’s lands from two directions at once. Soon after, the central front fell as well. Angrod and Aegnor were slain.
In the west, betrayal sealed the elves’ fate. Humans who worshipped Morgoth feigned allegiance, then struck from behind. Of Fëanor’s seven sons, only the strongest barely held a single fortress. The rest were shattered, forced to abandon their positions and retreat east to preserve what little strength remained.
With that, the three great containnt lines around Angband collapsed entirely.
Desperate to salvage the last honor of the elves, High King Fingolfin rode alone to Angband and challenged Morgoth himself. He wounded the Dark Lord seven tis, but in the end, he fell.
If Rowan wanted to change any of this, there was only one path.
He had to hold the western choke point for Finrod. Stabilize the west first. Then bring reinforcents back to the center. If ti allowed, shore up the east as well.
Only then would the elves avoid being ground nearly to extinction.
Otherwise, Rowan knew the truth. Alone, even he could not face Morgoth and an intact Dark Host.
"You really can fly that fast?" Angrod asked, eyes bright with sudden hope.
According to the dragon’s intelligence, even ssengers sent now would arrive too late. At best, it would be a gamble against fate.
But if Rowan truly moved faster than any horse...
"I wouldn’t lie about sothing like this," Rowan said evenly.
Bregolas clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Evan, go. Use every scrap of speed you have. This is a matter of human honor as much as elven survival."
Rowan nodded. "Understood, Chieftain."
White wings unfurled behind him.
Before taking off, he pointed toward the heart of the city, where a towering white statue rose nearly two hundred ters into the air.
"That statue," he asked Angrod and Aegnor. "What’s it made of? And will it hold?"
"That is a likeness of our father in Valinor," Angrod replied. "Carved from white stone. It’s... quite durable."
"That’ll do."
Rowan shot upward, landed atop the statue’s head, and placed his palm against its brow.
"Adaptive Transfiguration."
Magic poured out of him in a roaring flood. The statue trembled. Stone groaned. Just as Rowan’s reserves dipped dangerously low, the colossus opened its eyes.
"Hold the line," Rowan commanded, breath ragged.
Then he launched himself westward.
Monts after his departure, the white stone giant strode beyond the city walls. It crushed a cluster of orcs beneath its foot and swung a fist the size of a tower into the golden dragon.
"What is this thing?" Glaurung roared.
He unleashed a torrent of molten fla, but the white stone endured. Snarling, the dragon abandoned fire and closed in for brutal lee.
With the dragon pinned, the pressure on the battlefield eased instantly. Elves and humans stabilized their lines.
Rowan had left a guardian behind for a reason. If the center collapsed while he was gone, none of this would matter.
"Astonishing," Angrod breathed, watching stone clash with dragon. "We have never seen magic like this."
Even Bregolas and Barahir stood stunned.
They exchanged a look that said the sa thing.
If Evan had ntioned this earlier, they would’ve commissioned statues across every human settlent.
Rowan flew hard.
Nearly half an hour later, he reached the narrow canyon between the central and western fronts.
"As expected," he muttered. "Sauron really is a snake."
From above, he could clearly see vast orc forces concealed along both sides of the pass, far more nurous than anything on the central front.
An ambush.
And just then, from the west, Finrod’s elven army appeared, marching fast, drawn by the smoke and fire rising from the center.
History said that by the ti Barahir arrived, Finrod’s army was already destroyed, Finrod himself on the brink of death. Barahir’s warriors had died to the last man, forming a wall of flesh to pull Finrod from Sauron’s grasp.
But Rowan was early.
Before the trap could close.
"Expecto Patronum."
A spectral panda burst forth, soaring toward Finrod’s host to warn them.
Rowan stayed behind.
Sauron’s army held no Balrogs, no dragons. Just orcs. Endless numbers of them.
They had won before by sheer attrition.
So Rowan prepared sothing different.
Ancient magic.
Magic that didn’t need to kill.
Only to paralyze.
"Ancient Spell: Stormfall."
The sky above the canyon darkened. Black clouds rolled in, heavy and unnatural. Lightning twisted and coiled within them like living things.
Below, Sauron looked up at the forming storm.
And for the first ti that night, unease crept into the Dark Lord’s heart.
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