They wake him half an hour later. 

Balrogs are back. You could shred them with the Trees - could you do it with the Silmarils -

:Likely. I can try: Leareth scrambles up from the bed, reaching for Maitimo to steady himself; he’s dizzy from moving too quickly.

The problem is less the power they hold and more than he isn’t actually recovered, not fully, but - this isn’t complicated like a Gate is. And if he’s getting too close to exhaustion and there are too many left, he’ll resort to the fallback plan of getting a few out. The important Quendi.

(And leaving the rest. It’s not his preferred option.)

He is scowling at Leareth suspiciously but offers a Silmaril the instant they're out of the tent. 

Can you -

:You can hold onto it. I need only–: he doesn't even need to touch it physically, just reach in with his magic – his head twinges, but he can manage it. For a time. He pulls from it, checking if the power flows as freely as it did from the Trees–

Yep! There's a slightly different flavor - the Silmarils don't want to flood the world with their light, they want to present everything within it in the most illustrative light possible so its beauty can be seen - but for these purposes it's irrelevant.

:Where are they: He could scry for them but that's more magic, strength and concentration that he's not sure he has to spare. 

They can point to where the wards are being battered down.

Hard to miss. Leareth tries raw force, first, centring on that mass of magic-fuzz and ripping, twisting, pouring in as much of the Silmaril's light as he can fit through himself, tearing it apart from the inside...

Something gives, when he does that. It holds itself together much, much longer than a person would, if he were trying to tear them apart like that, but not forever, and then there's an enormous hot-white explosion that leaves a crater in the ground and the wards coated with ash -

It's not good for the wards, to have to hold off the force of an explosion, but this should still be in the range of 'wear and tear' and not 'damage that will bring them down'. 

:Are there more: 

There are. They're not sure how many; they're illusioned when they're not attacking. But there's one that attacks around there and one that attacks around there.

Doing it this way isn't efficient but it's simple and right now, with both an infinite energy source and a renewed headache making it hard to focus, simplicity wins. Leareth chases where they're actively attacking first, then – if he stretches out his mage-senses (ouch), past the resistance of his own wards, can he chase down their magic despite the illusions? 

He can! Turns out there are eight of them, and one of a different Maia who seems to notice his mage-sight and flee.

Interesting. He doesn't think he can damage it, not if it won't hold still, but can he get a sense of its properties? 

Its physical form is arranged differently than that of the Balrogs; it's not more humanlike. It's more fluid, maybe? When that one flees, the illusions fall.

Intriguing. Leareth thinks he'll recognize that one if he sees it again, those he's not sure how much Maiar can deliberate change the flavour of their magic or their physical form.

And now the Balrogs are easy to see. Next one, rip, tear, shred, white-hot flame and fury. The Silmaril he's drawing on gives him its power easily, willingly, but it feels like the inside of his head is ripping as well. 

:Nelyafinwë: he sends. :If they do not back down – I am not sure that I can take this many. If I am close to exhaustion, and there are still enough out there to take down the wards, I am going to raise the largest Gate I can manage for you and Fëanáro and anybody else close enough. So anybody you wish included should be here, now: 

He grits his teeth and reaches for the next Balrog. 

- he takes off his amulet and hands it to Tyelcormo. Quendi move all around Leareth, some moving up towards the walls and drawing bows and arrows, some moving back towards where Fëanáro is. Fëanáro takes off his amulet, too, hands it to another red-haired man Leareth hasn't met yet -

Macalaurë starts singing something. It's louder than whatever he was singing in the tent, more forceful. The world  - slows down. The Balrogs raise their whips and crash them against the walls as if they're moving underwater.

Huan howls, somehow in harmony, and the Balrogs falter.

And the next Balrog goes down in a blaze of white fire. :Nelyafinwë, what is happening–: 

I told them your plan. But I think the group staying has a chance, with Huan, now that we can see them, and - we can't get our family out and leave them, it's bad enough for my father and I to go -

:I understand: Loyalty, a thousand years of trust – concepts that are kind of fake, but sometimes real enough to bear weight. :I hope it will not be necessary: 

Next Balrog explodes, and Leareth's knees give under him. 

He catches him. They could handle three, he says with far more confidence than he has. 

Which Leareth senses, of course.

Five Balrogs left. Slowed, un-concealed, it's not hard to pin them down. :I - think I can take down two more - and still have enough left for a small Gate: 

Next Balrog down. Leareth's vision darkens from the power-drain, but he doesn't need the sight from his eyes, for this. 

The people who are going to leave close in a knot around him.

It takes Leareth longer to gather his power for the next one, and he can't manage the attack as cleanly, or the force as strong – it takes much longer for the Balrog to come apart. But it does, eventually, fire battering his wards.

(Fortunately – and absurd that he's calling it fortunate – whatever force does finally bring the shields down will damage the magical structure within the stones extensively. Enough that even for him it wouldn't be worth repairing rather than starting afresh. Melkor ought not be able to figure out much about his magic, if he captures the damaged artifacts.) 

...It doesn't take a lot of power, in the grand scheme of things, to open a Gate the size of a small doorway, cross thirty miles, and drop it within a minute. Leareth still needs thirty seconds to focus on breathing before he can concentrate enough to hold the memory in his mind. 

:Go: he barks at Maitimo the second it's up.