Orc's Reaction to Morgoth's Battle

    The days in Angband blend together. Orcs such as I are not granted the luxury of living in peace. Our days are endless hours of work. We work in the mines, toiling away to find ore and fuel for the furnaces. We work in the smiths, crafting thousands of blades, hammers, and armor to be used in our endless battles. We work in the field, charging at our enemies, hoping to expand His control to the lands beyond Angband. 

    I am called Ruing, and I was working in the forge, smithing under the watch of Yulog, our superior. He walked back and forth down the aisles of the forge, ensuring that any armament produced is of the highest quality. If any of us workers produce too many poor weapons, Yulog pulls us away. I do not know where these Orcs go, but I know I have never seen them again.

    I pulled a sword out of the forge, the metal still glowing red from the heat. I lay it on the anvil and smack it with my hammer. Sparks fly as the metals clash and the blade's final form is obtained. As I take the sword to be inspected, I notice that many of the other Orcs, Yulog included, are crowded around the small windows of the forge, looking out towards the entrance gates of Angband.

    Suddenly, a noise pierces our ears, a noise none had ever heard before. It was... pleasant? Compared to the noises of the forge, or the sounds of our brethren being slain by the Elves and by Men, this sound was remarkably different. It did not sting my ears but gently entered them. 

    I pushed one of the smaller Orcs out of the way to obtain a clearer view of what was happening. Upon looking out, I saw a sight I did not think I would ever witness. It was obvious that the figure I see standing at the gates of Angband was none other than Fingolfin, The High King of the Noldor. Why was he here? What did he wish to accomplish?

    Suddenly, as if to answer the call of Fingolfin, the gates to Angband swung open, and a dark smoke bellowed out. I did not know what was happening. Perhaps The Master had sent Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs to deal with him, similar to how he dealt with Fëanor many moons ago. Perhaps He wished to deal with him quickly, and sent forth Glaurung, King of the Dragons. There were many options to deal with this invader.

    However, what came from the smoke had surprised me. Out of the fog, almost like it was created from it, came a figure. I had never seen such a creature before. He towered over the Elf, covered in dark, sharp armor, and carrying a large shield and a mighty hammer. That hammer seemed familiar though, I know I had seen it somewhere before. The thought suddenly hit me like an arrow. That hammer was Grond, Hammer of the Underworld. But that could only mean one thing. That figure standing above the Elf was none other than the Master.

    As soon as I had realized what was going on, the two warriors launched at each other. The power on display, even from many yards away, was immense. Fingolfin was fast, and cunning, dodging attacks and striking The Master when the time was right. He, however, was strong, and every swing of His hammer wrought cracks in the Earth. I could not comprehend what I was looking at, the power levels on display being so high above me. How does a bug understand a fight between dragons?

    Minutes had passed, and Fingolfin had struck Him six times in various places. Things were not looking good. Seeing The Master take damage confused me. I had been told that He was a God, one so far above anything else, that he could not even be damaged. Yet, here he was, scars on his body, evenly matched with a lowly Elf. The thought confused and troubled me, as I began to question everything about my purpose towards Him. Suddenly, with a crush of his foot, Fingolfin was done for. The battle was over nearly as quickly as it had started. Yet, as The Master raised Grond for a final attack, the Elf stabbed The Master in his foot, a final act of cowardice, typical of an Elf.

    Despite his injuries, the fight was over. However, Angband was silent. The Master, our God, was injured. He walked back to his throne with a limp, a permanent reminder of what the single Elf had done to him. Angband was never quite the same afterwards. The Orcs and the Balrogs still feared and respected Him, yet his stature seemed lessened. The God had been injured, and if a God can be hurt, is He even a God at all?