The redemption of Beleth.

Beleth the Tainted awoke from unconsciousness with a start, memories of blood and screams fading from his mind.  He breathed a sigh of relief, the battle was long over and Ëamor was gone, that made Beleth remember something else.  He looked down at his side; an arrow protruded from his thigh and a rent in his armor leaked blood on his chest.  Ëamor, the prince of Felldar, had shot Beleth in the thigh, then Argonor, heir to the Naldor crown, had slashed him in the chest, rendering Beleth unconscious.  He tried to sit up but he had lost too much blood; he fell back against the hard earth, he looked about him instead.  He lay on the hillside not far from Ullanis, the Ullani Plain stretched before him, he could see men gathering and burning the fallen in the morning light, then the Plain ended at the wall that was the Alnur Mountains.  He thanked Muldorn that he had not yet been burned, he decided on his plan of action.  He grasped the shaft of the arrow, with his other hand he took his knife off his belt, and cut the wood from the arrow head.  Tossing the shaft aside, he gritted his teeth and dug the metal point out of his flesh with the knife.  It slid out, slick and red, falling to the ground at his side, Beleth took a torn part of his cape and stuffed it into the wound to stifle the blood flow.  He sighed and rested for a moment, his hand clacked against something, he turned his head and saw his healing potion, a crack in it's clear, bulbous vial, blue liquid seeping into the dirt.  He grabbed the potion and gulped down the remaining liquid; it tasted like blackberries and pineapple.  Beleth gasped in relief, then grunted as his torn skin and muscle knit back together, his heart beat steadied out, his haggard breathing returned to a normal rate.  The noise of rattling armor and voices came closer, so Beleth stood on unsteady feet, he looked for his mace.  It lay near a fallen Ullani swordsman, he picked up his black, gore-spattered weapon and put it through the loop on his belt, he then searched for his bow.
It lay some feet away, broken.
Beleth found an archer and took the corpse of it's bow and quiver.  Having put the quiver on his back, Beleth climbed the hill, keeping as quiet and low to the ground as possible.  The sight that met his eyes was a sad one; Ullanis, the great capital of the god Muldorn, lay in ruins, it's black wall in ruins, smoke rose from the houses, people mourned for the dead and for their city.  Beleth adjusted his torn, black, cape and stumbled down the side of the hill toward the vestige of Ullanis.  Men from Naldor, Felldar, Nandros, and Belannor searched the body littered streets for their own dead, dwarves were tearing down the palace of Muldorn, and even an elf was seen here and there, watching the conquered city.  Beleth would have gone into the city if not for two reasons: the insignia of Muldorn blazoned on his breastplate, and two, the pale impression of Muldorn's clammy hand on his face.  Beleth raised two fingers to his face and probed the bone white, hand-shaped scar, the mark where Beleth derived his magic powers.  He flipped up his hood, and placed an illusion over Muldorn's symbol on his armor, and entered the outskirts of, the once glorious, Ullanis.  The crowds of both the conquered and conquerers, barely gave him a second glance as he walked through the rubble and corpse littered streets.  H made his way toward the once grand palace and temple to the fallen god Muldorn, it's foreboding gray towers, now crumbled, still dominated the skyline.  Though instead of the black flag with a white hand on it, the flags of Naldor, Belannor, Felldar, Alnurite, and Nandros flapped in the wind in front of the palace.  Beleth, sickened by the destruction of his city, stole a horse and rode off, away from the site of the Battle for Eilendor.