Of the Last Alliance and the Downfall of Sauron

[Moru]

And finally, on the last day of that seventh year of terrible waiting, the Seige of the Alliance was broken.

The moment arrived without warning. No sign of life could be discerned from within the Barad-Dur that loomed immense before them, soaring three thousand feet into the sullen roof of Mordors sky. Orodruin had for the past year lain dormant, without fire. Only a distant rumble could be felt: as though the limbs of giants were engaged in some mighty subterranean labour. An inpenetrable mist had settled across the Gorgoroth, drawing as it often did dust from the ashen plains of the surrounding wastes; the little light that pierced the veils of Mordors Shadow was now drowned in darkness, and the Alliance was plunged into endless night.
Scarce more than three days later the supply wains mysteriously vanished, some thought lost in the sudden murk and although Elendil sent out scouts for their aid, none returned alive. The armies of the West were now cut off in a barren desert with little provision for long seige. The slow agonies of hunger began to gnaw them.

There came a sudden convulsion from the Mountain - the earth shook and reeled, and the ears of Men and Elves were stunned to deafness; burning rocks fell flaming from the sky, and their was a deadly peril of fire and bombardment.
Yawning chasms gaped open beneath the tents of the Dunedain, and the depths of Gorgoroth took many lives to its dark bosom; stout captains of Gondor and of Arnor, Lords of Old Numenor who had escaped the Akallabeth only to find a burial-death in the funeral plains of Sauron. The sounds of terror, and of grief, and of defeat unlooked-for filled the air as the true Power of the Ring was unleashed. Thus was Saurons plan revealed to them at last; to feign defeat, to withdraw across the Dagorlad with the pretence of weakness into his Tower; there to withstand shot and dart, all the while gathering His enemies before Him, knowing their hatred of Him, and of their desperation. For there would be no greater chance to rid the World of the Second Darkness than this, and if they did not dare the risk, the moment would be forever lost; and this the Dark Lord knew, and used against them.

Then came the Second Assault.

The mists of Gorgoroth began to clear, as though by some secret art. Then were the plans of Sauron revealed to the Alliance, for out of the mist there came Trolls of Morgoths realm - the Torog-Hai, huge creatures of terrible strength, who had lain silent and unmarked upon the plains as grey mishapen boulders cast from the violence of the Mountain. And now they came roaring and bellowing in rampaging hordes, and they were not alone. For with the Trolls came creatures like unto them, yet bearing the marks of other races; Troll-Cheiftans of lesser stature and power than the Torog-Hai, but with an agility and purpose far beyond the others. They strode in authority among them, seemingly as their commanders of their more simple brethren. These were the Variags of Khand, and this fell race seemed a hideous blending of Orc, Man and Troll; great leering sallow-skinned creatures of girth and lumbering strength, taller than the tallest son of Numenor. Their losses were grievous, and since were seen only once in the Wars of Middle-Earth; and in later legend became known as the race of Ogres.
But the Alliance was beaten back from the Gate of Barad-Dur by this sudden onslaught, being as they were confused and in dissaray, and their giant enemies assailled them from all quarters. Yet before long the Troll-force were slain, or routed back to the Gate, and there was time to order a hasty defense; but now there lay a vast area between the Alliance and the Tower.

Then came the Third Assault.

From out of the pits and chasms there issued uncounted legions of Orcs, in numbers that had never before been seen since the Dominion of Angband. These were the Snaga-hai, the Slave Orcs that worked the factories and tunnels beneath Barad-Dur, and in their coming was revealed the mighty scale of the Dark Tower.
For the fortress of Sauron extended far below the surface in the manner of Angband and ancient Utumno, and the Tower was but the peak of a far greater work. Beneath the Barad-Dur lay caverns and breeding-pits, birthing-wells and torture chambers, eyeless prisons, meeting halls, smelting furnaces, aqueducts, factories writhen in steam and flame; an underground citadel-prison for the ruined races of Mordor. And much of this was suddenly unroofed by the tunneling Snaga to their own great loss of life, for by the power of the Ring Sauron had called forth the deep fires of Orodruin that fed the factories of Barad-Dur, and He had sent that liquid fire coursing into the tunnels of His slaves. And they, as much as in terror of their Lord as from death by suffocation and burning, had tunnelled upwards in blind panic, undermining the Camps of the Alliance. Thus was the cruelty of the Dark Lord laid bare even unto his own slaves.
To the eyes of the Alliance it was as though the earth belched out a constant dark vomitous, for the Slave-Orcs came in such numbers that they surged out of the pits in waves, crawling over one another like a teeming mass of dark insect vermin. The bows of the Elves loosed upon them volley after volley, yet the Orcs poured forth in hordes unceasing, mounting the rising hills of their slain kindred, flinging themselves into the serried ranks of the West in a madness of terror; for hope of life and of escape had long left them. Yet the forces of Gil-Galad and Elendil held strong, now united and ordered at last. But they were driven further back towards the shoulders of Orodruin, and there now lay a great space for the mustering of many hosts.

Then came the Fourth Assault.

With a great booming rumble of noise, the Great Gate of the Dark Tower yawned open, for it was fashioned as the gaping maw of some hideous monster, and behind it lay a red-lit tunnel that led into the throat of Hell. And from this tunnel there came charging a new breed of Orc; the Uruk-Hai, the Great Orcs of Sauron. They were larger and more fierce by far than the Snaga-Hai, and heavily armed. Moreover, they had an inherent lust for battle and the slaughter of others - and they were not easily daunted. With the Uruks marched great packs of Wargs - twisted wolves from the whelps of old Draugluin and Carcharoth, and their howling filled Gorogoroth with a dismal clamour. The surviving Trolls and Variags fell into the front ranks to strengthen their numbers, and together they marched forth from the Tower in unceasing legions.
Behind them lumbered the huge Brood-Mothers of the breeding pits, whom none knew existed. Almost as large as Trolls they were and more vicious than any Uruk, they loomed like great shadows behind the dark ranks of their soldiers. About their feet swarmed the teeming masses of Orc-Young, smaller than halflings, and their many teeth were as a thousand tiny needles; and if they could find no prey to tear apart they would turn upon the weaker of their kind, dismembering them in an orgy of death and feasting. And the Brood-Mothers urged their males onward with deafening roars, and the Uruks bellowed with excitement, eager to prove their worth before the prized females. Many Uruks fell to the arrows of the Dunedain and Eldar, but ever did they seek to protect the Brood-Mothers. But the Uruks' losses were few - more than five times did they outnumber the Alliance, who themselves still numbered more than three-hundred thousands. In a great arching curve did they array their forces, hoping to encompass the tightly packed divisions of the West. The Elves and Men that day saw before them an endless sea of foes, a heaving ocean of hatred surging before them, glinting here and there with the glimmer of a million cruel weapons. The Uruks swept the remaining Snaga before them as leaves before a dark hurricane, and plunged into the defenses of the Alliance like a black tidal wave of upon a sea wall. But as grievous as their losses were to the Uruks, the defence of the Alliance held, and they fell back, and regrouped, and pressed forward, drawing on their enemy, separating their front lines. A standoff was finally reached upon the fifth day of fighting, a no-mans land developing between the two hosts. Between lay hills of bodies amid rivers of blood, red and black, and the flies of Mordor swarmed as a gigantic cloud, and feasted there upon the field of dead flesh.

Yet although the Alliance had taken few losses as to be compared with the Uruks, their darkest hour was yet to fall. The legions of Orcs suddenly became animated, as though rejoicing at the arrival of great champions - but then a ghastly silence took them, and even the Brood Mothers cowered as though under the threatening gaze of some malevolent predator. The Trolls sank to the ground, covering their heads with their great forearms, and the Wargs whined in fear.
But this was the Will of their Master at work, who had descended from his Tower-Crown in wrath. A dull rumbling issued from within the Dark Tower, and one by one the lights of its many windows were extinguished. Those in the front lines of the Alliance felt the pressure of His Will almost as a physical force, and raised their hands before their eyes in fear, as though to ward off an unseen blow. The noise grew deeper, as did the darkness about them; and the air grew suddenly freezing cold, as though some unearthly power was drawing all heat from the land to feed the fires of Its hatred.

Sauron was coming for them.

[Arryle]

OK...I absolutely must have more of this ASAP!! DArn, this is good, and I mean really good. You are bringing the whole thing to life here, Moru!! Wow!!!

:

[Moru]

For a long time there was absolute silence - only the mournful howl of the Gorgoroth winds could be heard - and the droning masses of feasting flies. The ground between the forces now writhed with uncounted maggots, who waxed fat on the flesh and blood of the fallen. The sky above was lit with a red glare, and the black clouds bent low over Mordor, pregnant with the outpourings of wrathful Orodruin. Fear grew before the Alliance like the rising of an icy gale, but behind them lay the firey peril of the Mountain.

Then, the steady rythm of great drum-beats began to sound from within the Tower, and the limbs of the Men of the front line shook, for it was as if the deep rolling booms were as the metrenome of their doom, steadily beating towards death and darkness. All the hosts of Barad-Dur then rose from their knees, and their eyes glowed red, and there came from them a rythmic animal noise, a bellowing that belonged only to the savage world of beasts. And they thrust their weapons hard into the stone before them, and a great cloud of choking dust was thrown up, and the black desert was shaken. There then came from the Tower a blast of war-horns louder than any before, and the hordes of Mordor ceased their terrible chanting. There fell a second silence. The legions of Uruks then separated into two great hordes, creating a wide lane leading back to the Great Bridge.

Then, with a great rending screech of tortured metals, the Gate of Barad-Dur opened for the final time in that Age of the World; and never before nor since had there issued from that Tower such a force as mighty, nor so powerful, or as terrible.

First marched the Zherak-Hai, the High Orcs. The greatest of all the Orc-races, they were the descendants of those ancient spirits who, at the instruction of Melkor their master, devised the first form of the Orc in mockery of the Elves. Thus, being of earthly shape did they defile the captives of Utumno, and did produce in the darkness and horror of those pits the first true Orcs; and those of that first generation were of terrible power and size, and had the long life of their parents. Most were destroyed in the War of Wrath, but Sauron had gathered the scattered survivors under his banner, and they took him as their new Master. The Zherak-Hai were become huge and misshapen by an eternity of corruption, and their eyes were as yellow coals in a blackened hearth; and the evil of Utumno was written in their faces, for their close descendance from Elven stock was plain to all. And the torture and cannibalism of their Elven parents was also written for those who could read such awful history, and the Eldar of the Alliance sheilded their eyes against this horror. The Melkohini they called them, the Children of Morgoth, and the Uvanoth, which is The Unholy Horde.
The Zherak-Hai were as lords unto their Uruk children, and were their champions and shamans - living heirlooms from the Dominion of the Power of the North, now long banished. They were housed in honour in the middle-reaches of the Dark Tower, above the myriad dwellings of the Uruks, and formed the front line of the Dark Lords personal guard. Three thousands there were left to Sauron in the Second Age, but such was their size and potency upon the field that they appeared more.

Flanking the Zherak-Hai were the Olog-Hai, the Great Trolls of Sauron, who had surpassed his former master in the corruption of life. They were of a size and strength equal to the Torog-Hai, but were cunning and agile, and moreover they could withstand the rays of the Sun - if Saurons thought were upon them. The Olog-Hai were arrayed in an armour of thick iron scales, and they bore heavy hammers of steel. These trolls dwelt upon the open plains of Gorgoroth as did the others of their kind, for like them they were of a hardiness now vanished from the World, and no peril of nature could daunt them. Their cheiftan was Gothmog, first and most mighty of his kind; and behind his strength they marched as part of their Lords personal army, and strode forth as a vast unyeilding wall of brutality. The Olog-Hai were a new race in Middle-Earth, and their host numbered but two thousands.

Then came a strange sight, for it seemed that behind the Zheraks rode a cavalry of Men of the race of Numenor - girt in a fashion not unlike those of the Great Isle, which was now lost. But in place of their winged helms they wore horned crests of hideous craft, and their eyeguards were low and thick, so that their eyes were hidden from all view; what skin could be seen was of a sickly grey hue, with dark veins pulsing faintly near the surface. They were robed in crimson and black, and their armour was of blackened steel, as though long subjected to great heat; and they bore long barbed spears of bronze. Behind them they drew thirty great engines of steel and wood - strange and terrible machinations that had not yet before been seen upon Middle-Earth. The heads of these mighty weapons were shaped as gaping maws of ravening wolves, and short barrels of wrought iron studded with many rivets formed their bodies, and their trailing fuses were as the tails of beasts. They were drawnto the summits of the carrion-hills, and the Zherak crowded away from the strange devices, rightly fearing the perils of a deadly craft born too soon to the World.
The mounts of these evil Men were steeds huge and frightful to look upon, for fire flickered from the sockets of their eyes and nostrils, and their faces were more unto blackened skulls than as the heads of normal horses. Thus was revealed the dark cavalry of the Black Numenoreans, the accursed traitors of old who had followed Morgul the Ringlord in search of power and wealth, finding only enslavement and darkness. They had gained secret knowledge from their Master, and with their own growing lore had created fell weapons of fire and blast.
And those of High-Elven mein caught their breath, for to their eyes these evil Men shimmered within auras of dancing red and black; and this was an effect of their existence between the Seen and the Unseen realms, which is forbidden to those of mortal race. But thus the Eldar of the Alliance saw that they bore fell knowledge by which they might prolong their lives, and the blasphemy against the designs of Eru therin. They were among the most dangerous of all His servants, and would also weild sorcery in battle.
The Black Numenoreans formed Saurons Council, and were the Bearers of Policy and Law within the Barad-Dur, being the Judges of the Tower, and they were housed in the Halls of Command, below the Great Crown. They were numbered three thousands mounted and two thousand on foot, and rode to the head of the column. The footmen began to load the strange engines with shot and sulphurous powders, and stood at the ready with flaming brands.

Behind the Black Numenoreans from the Gate there blew a sudden wind of ice - and with it, a rising scream of many voices; a seemingly endless rending screech of death that stunned the ears and tested the resolve of all. Out from the Gate rode nine black-robed horsemen, helmed with bitter crowns of faded gold and silver, and their raised swords ran with pale fire. They wore still the shapes of Men, but their dark spirits were housed in cursed armour of stolen mithril, blackened and charred as were the Black Numenoreans, engraved with many twisting runes in the Black Speech of their Master. Any mortal who dared strike at them was doomed to die a dreadful death, their soul in bonds, becoming in their turn a Wraith under their slayers. These foul spirits were the Ulairi, known to the Dunedain as the Nazgul: the prime servants of Sauron. The legendary Ringwraiths had ridden to the field, mythical warrior-kings and sorcerors of old - now returned to the World Visible. Normally cowled within black hoods, their faces were now revealed and were fearful to behold, for the rictus of death and endless torment was enshrined there to the horror of living Men. The air was misted about the Nazgul as it cooled to a deathly freezing, and above their crowns hung a mantle of looming shadow; few even among the mighty of the Eldar could now withstand them, for the power of the Ringwraiths was greatly increased in the presence of their Master.
Above their shimmering heads there flew creatures of huge size, fell beasts of naked wing that swooped and wheeled to the command of the Ringwraiths; they had flown from their hideous eyeries surrounding the Crown, scenting death upon the air, and their croaking voices called for their fill of living flesh. The Nazgul dwelt in the Houses of Lamentation, the High Chambers of Torture in the Barad-Dur from where none may return unchanged. This dreadful lair was directly below the great Iron Crown of the Dark Tower, and from here could they hold council with their Master directly.

The leader of the Nazgul was the Wraithlord Morgul, who was the Champion of Sauron and High Captain of the Mordors Armies; he was invincible before any strength of Men. He let cry a great shivering scream, and his fellows added their eight deathly voices to his; and the rocks before his steed were riven asunder. Some among the Men of the Alliance sank to the ground weeping in terror, or stood blind and witless as their minds drowned in blackness; for to them the coming of the Nazgul was as entrapment within a living nightmare. And the Elves bowed their heads in dismay, fully percieving the true horror of the Rings of Power, and the folly of Celebrimbor - and what Sauron had wrought.

Then at this sign from Morgul did one of the Black Numenoreans climb a piled hill of rotting Orc-carrion, and drew himself up to address the Alliance as a herald. Now the great Tower of Mordor, the Barad-Dur, most mighty of all fortresses of Middle-Earth, was emptied. Save for One.

[Moru]

***

The embassy rode to the festering summit of the carrion hill, and standing to full height in his stirrups, addressed the Alliance in tones of scorn and mockery. And he said:
"I am the Mouth of Sauron."
The voice of this herald was deep and rich, and heavy with ancient evil wisdom; but it had a compulsive quality, and even the Eldar of Gil-Galad felt constrained to listen. Those of mortal race within the Alliance stirred with sudden disquiet, for to them his voice came as from within their own mind, or emanated from the ground before them. The Men of the Alliance looked up in fear, for this was a thing of sorcery, and beyond their reckoning. The messenger continued.

"And here before us is the might of the West, such as it is. A most pitiable challenge to the Empire of Mordor, we deem it, and are almost saddened. For we of the Great Tower had hoped for somewhat more; a fitting test for our strength of arms, some resistance perhaps, that we might further sharpen our blades against. But alas, it is not to be." and the voice of the Mouth now seemed heavy with regret, but still behind all there lay cruel mirth barely supressed.
"The Last Alliance is this rabble of peasantry named, and not without good cause: for the last such host shall this surely be. Thou hast wrongfully rebelled against the Empire of Mordor, and have earned death thus, and for some among you, worse than death now awaits. With thine own eyes hast thou beheld the full might of the Great Tower, and even thee of little wisdom must surely perceive this truth by now: that there can be no hope for thy victory, and thy defeat shall be as swift and total as we can contrive.
"And when the flesh of thy bodies is consumed and thy bones are scattered as dust upon Gorgoroth we shall visit terrible vengeance upon thy bereaved families, whom in thy ignorance have believed beyond our reach. For thou hast been deluded by thy leaders, who have brought thee to the door of thy death through their lies. The agony of thy wives and children will be sufficient payment for their delusion.
"Those of the Eldar we shall capture alive, and they shall be delivered into the tender cares of the Zherak-Hai; and the delights of ancient Utumno shall at last be reborn in the lightless pits of Barad-Dur. Even should thou slay thyselves in despair thereafter, what thou shalt suffer shall be forever graven upon the parchment of thy spirit; never wilt thou escape what shall be inflicted, as long as this World shall last. For by His power The Lord of Middle-Earth shall bind thy souls to His thought, and hoping to find new life in the West beyond the Sea thou shalt find only rebirth here, in forms twisted and dreadful. Thus shall the horror become endless, unless in time thou come to find the darkness accommodating, and take pleasure in such deeds of cruelty thyself."

The Men of the Alliance were stricken, for it was as though the Mouth of Sauron had read their very minds, and discovered their secret fears. For they had braved the darkness of Mordor only for the safety of their wives and children; but for their futures would they have suffered any sacrifice. Now it seemed that even the future lay under the Shadow of Mordor; that whatever deeds of heroism they acheived would be rendered worthless.
And the Eldar were filled with dread, for the Mouth had spoken with specific instruction from his Lord, and had struck at the very heart of their secret terror. For other than Melkor His master, Sauron was the cheif architect in the creation of the Orcs of Utumno, and He knew there was no more awful fate that an Elf may endure in the World. Thus did great fear grow throughout the Alliance, and as the final setting of the sun before endless night, hope began to fade.
And the Mouth of Sauron laughed as he saw their growing despair.

"But there is another way, and my Lord has instructed upon me to offer thee one last chance. Is there no-one here with authority enough to speak with me, or indeed wit to understand me? Not thou at least." and he guestured to Gil-Galad, who stood motionless amongst his honour guard.
"It takes more than a sharpened stick of mithril to make a King, or a rabble such as these. A lowborn son of Fingolfin's house, who has not even the light of Aman within him - shall one such as thyself lead those of greater worth? Is there no answer? Is there no spokesman among thee? Or has cowardice stolen thy tongues, as we guessed it might?"
At a sign from Gil-Galad did Elrond son of Earendil rise, and strode to the front lines, bearing the standard of his lord. In his face was the wisdom of the Eldar and the hardiness of Men blended together, and he spoke for both races. He climbed to the high top of one of the many boulders of Gorgoroth, so that he was of a height with the Mouth. The Mouth of Sauron looked upon Elrond with disdain, and sneered as he spoke.
"So thou art the spokesman!" he laughed, feigning disbelief. "Elrond of Imladris, the bastard offspring of Elwing, whose own father deserted at his birth. A most glorious heritage. Are we to believe that this - this halfcaste speaks for the great Eldar of Feanors House, or the mighty sons of Lost Numenor? Or perhaps this is the only role fit for thee, who has neither the wisdom of the Elves, nor can match the prowess of Men. What sayest thee to this?" asked the Mouth, eager for sport.
"To such insults of little meaning - nothing." answered Elrond. "But we of the Alliance have come here to meet out justice to Sauron, accursed and faithless, and we have little time for liars - least of all their lying slaves. Finish your embassy with haste, for the bows of the Galadhrim and the steel shafts of Numenor are trained upon you. Be swift, for your death is near."
At this the Mouth recoiled, as though struck by an unexpected blow - for the voice of Elrond was hard and clear as adamant stone, and had a power beyond those of mortal men, and even the Eldar: for in him flowed the blood of Melian. Rage grew within the Mouth of Sauron, and he struggled to maintain his calm - but there were things left to be said by his Lords instruction, and fear of disobeying his master cooled his wrath.

"The Lord of Middle-Earth has given thee a choice: the remaining Eldar are to depart forever from these shores, never to return. Safe passage to thy havens shall be granted. All others are to withdraw beyond the Hithaeglir, where thou shalt have leave to govern thine own affairs, thy lands subject to the Empire of Mordor. These are the terms of Sauron. Accept them and there shall be peace, and order under His rule. Deny them, and all I have said shall surely be."
The words hung in the air, heavy with dread. The Mouth of Sauron laughed, for he saw their despair, and the internal struggles etched on their faces told that he had come to the mastery of his craft. It was the host of Anarion whom he last addressed, for here lay the weak link in the chain of the Alliance. Anarion, desperate for force of arms against the onslaughts of Mordor, had enlisted the folk of the White Mountains. These were a thrawn people, and they gave their trust grudgingly, for their ancestors had suffered greatly under the tyrannies of Ar-Pharazon of Numenor - but Anarion had promised them the rich fields of Calenardhon for their good faith. And this Sauron knew, and sent among them emessaries ahead of Gondors messengers, the chief of which was the Mouth. But the Mouth had promised the folk of the Mountains Gondor herself, and all her lands, and thus were they swayed. For the people of the White Mountains now knew the Dunedain to be the descendants of those who had hunted and enslaved them mere decades before, and here lay open the oppurtunity for vengeance: and thus was born treachery in Anarions host. And their king stood nigh to Anarion, and awaited the secret words that were agreed on. While the Mouth spoke, his soldiery moved from the front lines of the Alliance, and prepared to strike.

[Arryle]

Moru...I love the fact that you have fleshed out the mythology here so thoroughly. It has the tone and voice of ancient Celtic tales, like Beowulf. Please continue in this way, as I am completely caught up in your telling of this story!

[Moru]

All awaited the words of Elrond, and some of lesser heart hoped that he might acquiesce, and thus bring an end to the darkness and the slaughter that had engulfed them. But this was an effect of the voice of the Mouth of Sauron, for by its nature did men question their own virtue and purpose, and the voice fed their doubts, and these gnawed at their reason. And while they struggled thus, the soldiery of the Traitor King of the White Mountains gathered in closely-knit groups amid Anarions' host, for they were left free from the Mouths trickery.

But Elrond suddenly laughed, and it seemed then to be less dark, and a semblance of hope returned. His voice pealed forth with great strength, and the hearts of the Alliance were lifted. And Elronds' words drove the foul voice of the Mouth from the minds of Men, and so they regained control of their thoughts, and the veils of shadow were lifted from their minds.
"You boast of the might of the Great Tower, as so you call it - and mighty indeed are the forces of Mordor! But I who have lived since the First Age of this World tell you this - that there have been greater evils by far, and mightier hosts than yours, and still have they failed to conquer the free folk of Middle-Earth, nor cover all the World in darkness. And amid all its pride we find Mordor constrained to haggle and barter for dominion of Middle-Earth, rather than win the lands of the West through force of arms - and you dare speak to us of cowardice! Nay - we shall not barter for the World thus, in shamefull treaty, shorn of honour and valour! Hear this, foul Mouth of Sauron. But for all your words the Shadow of Mordor is but a passing thing, and we of the Last Alliance shall endure beyond your shadow... and day shall come again!"

And Elrond turned to the hosts of the Alliance, calling with the full strength of his mighty voice: "Aure entuluva! Day shall some again!"

Thrice did he shout that battlecry, and thrice did the Alliance follow his lead; and on the third cry they drew all their swords as one, and their sudden light was as a great flare of many lightnings in that black place. And the Elessar of Celebrimbor, bound as a gift of Celebrian upon the brow of Elrond, burst forth in rays of splendour, and the eyes of the hosts of Mordor were stunned to blindness. And the steed of the Mouth of Sauron shied, and reared back on its huge legs, flinging its cargo from the heights of the carrion-hill.
The Herald of Sauron landed in crashing ruin amid a festering pool of blood and entrails, and arose in shaking wrath; and now his rage was unmastered, for his pride had also fallen before his fellows. Black gouts of dark blood and slime slavered from his throat as he spoke, and his voice was raw; and he choked, as much as from rage as from the legions of flies that assailed him.

"Thou speakest of life and of light and of hope!" he cried, and his voice rose to a hideous scream, and the dark veins of his throat pulsed and throbbed - some burst in their labour, and the black blood ran down his grimed neck.
"Death hast thou earned, agony and torture unto the ending of the World! Death! Death! Death and pain unending!"
Slowly he pushed his way through the massed ranks of the Uruk-Hai, and made his way back to his former position, mastering the great heat of his wrath. One last message was he commanded to give, and the will of his Lord was as an ever present weight upon him, quelling even this madness of rage.
"But come," he said in a soft voice, and his mouth smiled as he spoke: "we stand here idle, while we have at our disposal many weapons of war, and devices by which we may end this destructive conflict forever. And treachery the least of all!"

This was the secret phrase that had been agreed upon long ago in the fastness of the White Mountains. As planned, the forces of the Mountain King suddenly rose against the Host of Anarion, of which it was a great part; and the left flank of the Alliance was thrown into sudden confusion.
With his great voice, Anarion called to his father and elder brother:
"My Lords, there is treachery amongst us! Mark them well, for it is the Men of the Mountains that now assail us! Faith, hope and light be with you, and fear no darkness!" and Anarion, after slaying many amid his own host, fell at last to the blade of the Mountain King himself. His standard was struck down, and the shining cap of his golden hair was dulled in the mire of his blood. Isildur gave forth a great cry of grief and anger, and swore an oath of vengeance upon the Mountain Men; but Elendils' face was as set stone, cold and unmoving in his loss. So passed the second son of Elendil, most valiant and beloved of all the Kings of Gondor.

With the front lines of the Alliance broken and confused, the Host of Mordor struck; and no great assault of arms since the Wars of the First Age had borne such irresistable strength, nor sudden slaughter so ruinous, nor power as terrible.

The strange devices of the Black Numenoreans were fed fire, and their deafening blast wrought terrible ruin among the Alliance; but many would only fire once, for they exploded upon the carrion-hills, spreading their own measure of death amid the forces of Mordor. Then the Black Numenoreans spurred their steeds, and bore down upon the scattered soldiery of Elendil, and they were led by the deathly Nazgul, whom no mortal could withstand. Their leader was the invincible Wraithlord Morgul, and his warcry went on before him as a gale of fear, and many in the front-lines of the Alliance fled in a madness of terror. The Ringlord raised his mace as he approached the remaining shields and staves, and a thunderous blast of red lightning fell from the sky, and his foes before him were scattered as dust. Like a spear through living flesh the Black Cavalry clove the ranks of the Alliance asunder, and many hundreds were ridden down, crushed by great iron-shod hooves, or run through with barbed lances. And as they slowed their charge the Nazgul flung about them shards of poisonous metals, flying blades of steel cursed with the fell sorcery of Morgul; and those struck fell at once into a deathly swoon.
And following directly behind this charge ran the Olog-Hai, bellowing like beasts as they crashed into the ranks of Men and Elves doing there great slaughter, for it took the strength of many to fell but one of these mighty creatures, and these Trolls of Sauron took great delight in crushing their small foes. Then did the bowmen of the Galadhrim prove their worth, for such was their skill that they could shoot the Olog-Hai through the eyes, and thus were they somewhat contained.
But the Nazgul could not be assailed, and any that dared strike them fell back as though the victim of their own blow, and they grasped their sword-arms in agony, and their screams but added to the din and wrack. And the Ringwraiths called to the heavens with voices of death, and the fell beasts of the air came hurtling from the black sky, grasping Men and Elves from the ground as the eagle attacks the hare; and now their peril came from above as well as before them.

The treacherous host of the White Mountains then fell back, disengaging from the battle proper, and fled into the shadows of the West. And their King, with Anarions' blood fresh on his sword laughed, for now it seemed certain that the Alliance would fail, and the rich lands of Gondor be delivered unto him. Such was the faith that he placed in his new masters.
Now the Hosts of the West had lost their left flank, and so were compelled to withdraw into a great 'thangail', a shield fence of tightly packed divisions that might repel their enemies. A full league did it span from edge to edge. But Gil-Galad commanded that the Western part be left clear, so that they might cut a retreating path back to the heights behind them.

Then the war-horns of Mordor blared loud and brazen and the Hordes of Barad-Dur, Uruk and Zherak, Brood-Mother and Orcling newly spawned, Variag and Snaga, Warg and Troll and beast enslaved, surged forward in a great curving arch; and this was of such an immensity that the shield walls of the Alliance became immersed, as within an ocean of blackened steel. Enemies thronged about the Armies of the West in insurmountable numbers, from horizon unto horizon, in all directions save one. The path to Orodruin lay open still.

But she was beginning to slowly wake, and the red embers of her fury painted the dark skies of the West. For her Master had commanded her to flaming wrath by the power of the One Ring, and between a sea of foes and The Mountain of Fire, the Last Alliance was finally caught.

[Arryle]

You are painting some very fierce pictures with these words, Moru. Please keep going!

[Moru]

Desperate now was the plight of the Alliance, for at their front and upon their flanks raged the hordes of Mordor, and to their rear lay the perilous Mountain of Fire; and she was sending forth slow rivers of flame in her awakening.
Then did Elendil council Gil-Galad to fall back to the heights of the Mountain by ordered retreat, and to this Durin of Moria assented, for it was clear that they could not hold stay thus forever; outmatched by an enemy ten times their number upon the flats of Gorgoroth. But Gil-Galad said that they should first seek to drive back the hordes of Barad-Dur in a sudden attack of their best, so that a clear space may be left for the bow-work of the Galadhrim as the Alliance withdrew, lest the retreat become a rout. And most of all did he wish to assail the Nazgul, whom no mortal could withstand - and to Elendil and Durin this seemed the clearer council.

Gil-Galad then gathered to him Elrond of Imladris, and Cirdan of the Havens, and with him marched Erestor of lost Doriath; and to their strength was added Gildor Inglorion of Nargothrond, and mighty Glorfindel of Gondolin returned to Earth, pupil of Eonwe. Elendil called upon his knights of the rank of Roquen, picked men of Arnor and Numenor, and Isildur his son marched with him. Durin marshalled those of his royal family to his side, and they bore hammers and axes that would cleave Troll-Flesh as it were paper; and the ancient armour of Durin was unassailable by any creature of Middle-Earth, for it was wrought in the Deeps of Time by Aule. Gathered thus, the Captains of the West charged upon the the Black Cavalry, and at their head were those mighty weapons Aiglos, and Narsil, and Barukduzhar of Durin. And the Ringwraiths could not withstand such a combined assault, for the light of the wrath of Glorfindel burned as white fire, and the glare of the Elessar and the Elendilmir combined was an unbearable pain to the eyes of the Zherak-Hai born in torture and darkness; and many of the Olog-Hai fell to the mighty weapons of Durins Folk.
Then the Nazgul turned and withdrew to the Tower to ask the aid of their Lord in battle, and with them went the Black Numenoreans; for there were foes amongst the Alliance beyond their match. News of this sudden setback spread through the rank and file of Mordor, and dismay filled the front lines of the Uruks, and they beat upon the shields of the Alliance with less strength. And seeing the hardiness of the Dwarves coupled with the light of the Eldar was too much for some, and they retreated in great waves. Now there lay open a chance for the Alliance, but without the luxury of time; for this was but a mere reprieve born of sudden heroism, and the dark tide would soon return with greater strength.

The signals was made for the ordered retreat, and Gil-Galads plan brought to action. The Galadhrim loosed their bows in vast clouds of arrows, but they were aimed with cunning, for such was their skill that they brought down their foes in an arching line of death, and with the aid of the steel bows of the Dunedain this soon became a high wall of piled bodies. Now this wall prevented any returning charge, and broke the lines of Mordor as they attempted to regroup. Then, maintaining the integrity of the great Thangail, the Alliance slowly made their retreat up the shoulders of Orodruin. Along the open space at their front rode the mounted bowmen of the Northern Kindreds of Men, and in great sweeping lines did they cover the tracks of the sheild wall, and kept the disordered hosts of Sauron at bay with many stinging volleys. Thus, over two days of such trial did they manage to gain the higher ground, but not without difficulty and loss, for from Orodruin belched poisonous fumes, and a rain of hot ash and cinders fell; and all were in fear of her rivers of fire that could spring forth at any moment. Fifty thousands had been lost thus far to the Alliance through fire and dart, treachery and open assault; and many of these had been from the host of Anarion.
And from those heights could the Alliance espy the Hosts of Mordor in their entirety, and it appeared that all of Gorgoroth swarmed and writhed beneath them.

***

But then a strange thing was marked upon the plains. The innumerable hordes of Mordor, a thousand thousands at the very least, were regrouping their forces with extraordinary haste, far faster than such vast numbers could allow. It was as if they were all bent to One will, that the armies of Barad-Dur were subject to the whims of One command; and so it was. As peices upon some gigantic board of strategy, the Orcs, Orcling-young, Uruk, Zherak and Orc-Matriarchs, the Variags, Torog and Olog-Hai, the wolves and fell beasts of the air; they were now arrayed in concentrated rings about the knees of Orodruin. And now from their distant rear their ranks were surging open, as much from the Power of Command as from their own terror; those of keen sight among the Eldar gasped in awe, and in great fear, for One had come for whom no stratagem of war could ever prepare.

It was as though a Void had opened upon the plains of Gorgoroth, a great penumbra of lightless Shadow that moved with heavy purpose through the ranks of Mordor; about it marched the Black Numenoreans now unhorsed, and before it walked the Nazgul, who were now returned with increased in power. Then the Void halted amid the soldiery of Barad-Dur, and the veils of Shadow were lifted, and the source of its power was at last revealed.

[Arryle]

More please, ASAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Moru]

Sauron had come.

From the towering fastness of the Barad-Dur He had come, and His footsteps were as the drumming notes of thunder upon the plains; and even his slaves fled in terror before His wrath, which burned forth as visible flame. But their terror would not carry them far, for the trammels of Command that bound them were as fetters unbreakable; the Ring of Power was at work. Thus did His hosts part at his coming, but strayed never too far, and it was as if circles of unseen force held them at a distance, in check; as though from Him flowed a deadly malignancy that repelled even those of His own creation. Only the Nazgul could bear such close countenance, and their shadows walked before His great shadow. Not even the mighty Olog-Hai, who cowered amid the Uruks, could overtop their master in height and girth, and He towered over his slaves as the Barad-Dur towered above desolate Gorgoroth.

By the peerless skill of His Black hand was He greatly protected, for he had fashioned for Himself armour of mysterious substance; some marked that it resembled the fused unbreakable stone of Orthanc, but it was blackened and scorched as by a constant great heat from within, and gave forth no gleam of light reflected. Rather, it seemed to devour light, and served to but enhance the looming Shadow of its maker. To some it resembled the carapace of some chitinous burrowing creature of forgotten age, curved and spiked with twisting horns, and it was many-layered and of exeeding thickness, - none but the most mighty of weapons could peirce such defences.
The flowing lines of this dark armour were marked with the twisting runes of forgotten tongues, and ran with flickering red flame - wherever He walked there was left a trail of blistered stone. About His heavy shoulders there lay clasped a long black cloak of unknown material, but this held no device, and seemed unharmed by the red heat of His body. From both cloak and armour there rose a dark smoke, as though His very presence poisoned even the air about Him; and these noisome fumes were deadly to all living things.

The helm of the Dark Lord was high and hideously warped; no human head could it contain, for it was long, and sloped forward, and great curving horns spread out and up from the sides, shaped as two arching serpents. The faceguards lay open, but no face could be clearly discerned, for about the helm there shone an unholy halo of flame, a crowning circle of bright fire that was painful to look upon; and between the arches of the horns some thought they saw an Eye, ever vigilant, that could pierce all thoughts, and from it nothing could be long hidden. But there was as yet a face within those flames, but it was burned and blackened, and terrible to behold, for the surface writhed and twisted, and the eyes were as glazed coals, glittering with ancient hatred.

By His own fell hand was He also armed. In His left hand he bore the weapon Henghe-Rhai, which in the Black Speech was 'The Iron of the Master', Angauring in the Grey Elven tongue, 'the Weapon of Cruel Iron'. This was a huge mace of hell-wrought metals, crafted from the dense materials at the heart of the World, fused together by the binding powers of the One Ring. Six feet was it in length, and was a full ton in weight; upon the barbed head was written a thousand spells for the utter ruin of Elves, Dwarves and Men. Along the haft there ran twisted forms depicting scenes of torture and awful cruelty blended together, and the pommel was of a screaming skull, caught in some dreadful torment.

But upon his right hand, which was bare of gauntlet, He wore openly the One Ring, the Ring of Power that was forged in the mighty furnaces of Orodruin to rule all others; and the gold of it gleamed upon the jointed length of his black finger, and the script thereupon shone in mockery of the Eldar. And the right hand of Sauron burned with an unquenchable fire; glowing embers would fall from it, burning into the stone beneath, and from his long outstretched fingers issued a noisome smoke. But as fearful as this was, the real peril lay within the Ring.
Such a weight of power lay within the Ring that all eyes were drawn to it, but percieved it not; to the Hosts of Mordor it was as their Master held in His hand the dreadful doom of their lives, and by this they would gladly slay themselves, or cast themselves reckless upon the swords of their enemy. To the Alliance the air about the Hand of Sauron seemed to throb and pulse with some deadly veiled threat; some device of arcane design by which He might twist even the very Earth to His will, and bring the World against them.

And so it would prove.

The Dark Lord lifted his right hand aloft, and for a moment stood thus, graven as a hell-fashioned work of stone craft. And lo! - a slashing bolt of lightning fell from the billowing black clouds of Mordor straight to His hand, and He weilded the power without hurt or harm; for the Ring bent all forces of nature to the whims of His thought. Sauron drove His flaming hand into the rock before his feet with all the ancient strength of His will, and the stone yeilded as molten tallow. Thus did the Dark Lord put the Power of the Ring to work as He had done in the Brown Lands, and upon the mires of Dagorlad, which were now the cursed Dead Marshes.

The ground shook, and a rising roar of ruinous noise filled all the plains - Orodruin reeled, and heaved forth a gigantic tower of fire miles into the riven clouds of Mordor. The ground split beneath the feet of the Alliance, and from thence did poisonous fumes issue, and did amongst them ghastly injury; for whosoever was caught in those deadly vapours would burn as living torches, and those who stood anigh to these sudden chasms would clutch at their throats, choking as they fell. Slow rivers of red death ran from Orodruins firey summit, and they glowed with great heat as they crept inexorably near; soon would the Host of the West become engulfed in liquid flame. Red forks of livid lightning came crashing down with terrible wrack and din, and a rain of burning cinders fell; all was lit with a wrathful red glare. And some among the Alliance wept in despair, for it was as though they were caught in a living nightmare inescapable; and they cursed the folly of their leaders for bringing them to this terrible end, that they should in their madness bring war upon the Dark Lord in His own realm, and have hope of victory.
Behind the unnassailable might of their Master, the Hosts of Mordor surged forth as one. Their hordes were gaining height with unnatural haste, for driven by the Command of the Ring they would never tire until exertion rent open their hearts; and the Nazgul screamed their deathly cries, and the laughter of Sauron outrang the thunder.

And those who knew the Grey-Elven tongue within the Alliance took thought amid their terror, and they renamed Orodruin 'Amon Amarth', the Mountain of Doom; for upon her shoulders the Doom of the World would now fall.

[Arryle]

The amount of research and time you put into your work, Moru, is amazing! Thus far, this has been a terrific work of storytelling. Please continue!

[Moru]

The Alliance was arrayed in strength upon the shoulders of Mount Doom; the deeds of heroism and the subtle strategies upon the flats of Gorgoroth had bought enough time to arrange an ordered defence. By the council of Durin, the Dunedain had gathered boulders cast from the violence of the Mountain, and aided by the Khazad of Hadhodrond, set them in a great line at the lip of the plateau, hidden from the eyes of their enemies. Under these mighty stones they thrust the timber of their banners and strong spears - and these they bent almost to breaking, ready to fling the boulders down upon their foes.

Thus was the Alliance set for the final battle:

Behind the deadly traps stood the Soldiery of Gondor and Arnor, tried and tested Men of the Faithful of Numenor, Knights of the House of Elendil, Isildur and fallen Anarion, trained to the high rank of Roquen. With them were the battalions of the level of Ohtar, the guardsmen of Minas Anor, Minas Ithil, Osgiliath, proud Annuminas and fair Elostirion; they were of less skill than their captains and lords, but warriors of great bravery nonetheless. Strengthening their numbers were the tall men of the North, of little less size than their Numenorean cousins, skilled in the training of horses, and the weilding of spears thereupon. Behind this mighty front line were the billmen and shieldbearers of Eriador, spearmen from Dale and Esgaroth, archers and axemen from the eaves of Greenwood the Great, and the massed ranks of all the Free Men of the West. But with them walked the grim Druedain, Masters of Healing and of Poisons, whom no darkness of Mordor could intimidate - they stood as silent standing stones among the other Men, few in number; and they seemed almost a race apart, belonging to some other age of the World.

And in knotted groups there stood the grim ranks of Durins House, who feared no heat of fire within their peerless armour; and with these were the Folk of lost Belegost and Nogrod, strenghtening the Host of Khazad-Dum; they wore fell masks and broad shields, and their great axes glinted in the gloom. But the Dwarves were few as to be compared with the other races in the Alliance, for the Seven Kindreds no longer shared trade or force of arms; their Rings bred jealousy and mistrust among them, and the power of the Dwarves was forever dispersed. But the Dunedain do not forget the aid of Durins Folk upon Mount Doom that day, and the Eldar omit them not from their Histories; yet some have named the Last Alliance one of Elves and Men, and it was not so.

Behind all stood the Elves, fair and fell in the glare of the Mountain: The ageless warriors of Lindon and Imladris, the spearmasters of Mithlond, the unmatched archers of Lorien, and Greenwood the Great, Silvan and Sindarin folk of Amroth son of slain Amdir, Thranduil son of fallen Oropher, and of Celeborn, Bearer of the Light of Telperion; the surviving Gwaith-i-Mirdain of lost Celebrimbor also marched, and with them the remnants of the proud House of Feanor - all gathered in renewed glory under the command of Ereinion Gil-Galad, son of Fingon, last High King of the Noldor upon Middle-Earth. Upon his left marched mighty Elrond son of Earendil, master of lore and strategy; and upon his right stood dread Glorfindel, slayer of the Balrog of Thoronath, from whom shone the golden living light of Aman to the dismay of his foes.

But now the hordes of Mordor drew near, and the great wind of them was as a foul updraft of pestilence. Then did Durin send the signal to the Dunedain, and by the great strength of their limbs did they let loose the boulders; they thundered down the shoulders of Orodruin with great speed, gathering the loose shale and stone as they went - a crashing avalanche of overwhelming power met the hosts of Mordor with great ruin and tumult, and many were swept back into their fellows, or else were buried under falling hills of ash. When this first assault had done its deadly work, and the charge of Mordor was slowed, the archers of the Alliance let fly all their arrows in vast clouds of bitter steel, and they struck as a driving rain of death - volley after volley fell unceasing amid Sauron's hosts, until the quivers of the Alliance were utterly spent. More than two hundred thousands were slain ere they reached even the front lines of the Alliance, and the knees of Mount Doom were carpeted thick with bodies uncounted.
But still the forces of Mordor came on, for the Ring gave them a strength beyond the fear of death, and the terror of their Master drove them. And the rivers of fire from the heaving mouth of Orodruin were almost upon the Host of the West - now was the time to strike, or else all would be consumed in flame. Little time was left.

Then Elrond of Imladris sprang upon a high rock, and spoke these words:

"Men of the West, warriors of the Khazad, people of the Eldar - behold! Here we are come to our final test, and let our hearts be lifted, and none falter. The Shadow lies beneath us, and the dark heavens above, yet it is we who bear light, and the hope of life for Middle-Earth; and it is we of this Last Alliance who shall drive this Shadow forever from our World! May Eru the Father, beyond the Circles of Earth bear witness - we shall have victory this hour! Aure Entuluva - Day Shall Come Again!" and he drew forth his sword, and its light was red in the glare of Mount Doom. The Hosts of the West cheered, and drew their own swords in answer; and they put away their fear, and their doubt, and their courage returned.

The final order was given - the order to charge, long awaited. With a mighty blast of war-horns, the Last Alliance hurled itself into the disordered Hordes of Mordor. The meeting of those two mighty hosts was as the clash of raging oceans, one of living light, the other wrought of consuming shadow; and the deafening noise of that gigantic collision rose above even the din and wrack of the Mountains' fury - for the armed might of all Middle-Earth, good and evil, was gathered here in war.
In the van of that front line was Gil-Galad and Elendil, and Isidur his son, and Durin surrounded by his grim captains; and with them charged Celeborn, and Thranduil and Amroth eager for vengeance, and Cirdan, Erestor and Gildor, and bright Glorfindel, champion of the Eldar. And lo! the Dunedain laughed as they clove the ranks of Mordor asunder, and the Dwarves chanted fell staves of battle to the dismay of their enemy, and the Eldar sang as they drove the Hosts of Sauron before them with great slaughter. Straight through the dark tide they passed like a thrust spear, far outnumbered as they were, and it seemed then to the Alliance that nothing might stay their wrath.

Beyond all hope, victory was near.

[Arryle]

"Men of the West, warriors of the Khazad, people of the Eldar - behold! Here we are come to our final test, and let our hearts be lifted, and none falter. The Shadow lies beneath us, and the dark heavens above, yet it is we who bear light, and the hope of life for Middle-Earth; and it is we of this Last Alliance who shall drive this Shadow forever from our World! May Eru the Father, beyond the Circles of Earth bear witness - we shall have victory this hour! Aure Entuluva - Day Shall Come Again!" and he drew forth his sword, and its light was red in the glare of Mount Doom. The Hosts of the West cheered, and drew their own swords in answer; and they put away their fear, and their doubt, and their courage returned.

Now that was one heck of a passage, Moru!!!!

Please give us some more soon!

[Moru]

Thus began the seventh day - the last, and most terrible of that war; for both sides would suffer loss from which they would never recover.

Upon the slopes of Mordor battle raged unchecked, for the Hordes of Mordor were filled with terror of their Lord, whose great shadow loomed behind them. The coming of the Zherak-Hai had kindled a madness of rage within the Eldar, and under the wrath of Gil-Galad they slaughtered them with a hatred born ere the rising of the Sun; and the race of the Melkohini was destroyed utterly, and without mercy. And those of high mien in the Host of Elendil pursued the Black Numenoreans with an anger born of ancient treachery; and the sorcery of the Judges of Barad-Dur availed them not, for the blended light of the Elendilmir and the Elessar drove away all shadows of deceit as mist before a Western wind.
But the innumerable hosts of Mordor pressed ever forward and up, and in time the charge of the Alliance was slowed by the sheer mass of their fallen foes. With two vast arms, the Hordes of Sauron encircled the Armies of Gil-Galad and Elendil - but the greater part of that host was below the Alliance, and not above them; and so the Alliance still held the higher ground in strength.

But Elendil and Gil-Galad were invincible that day, and no evil born of the World could withstand their combined might. The glaive of Aiglos, crafted by Feanor himself at the height of his power, swept across the enemy in glittering arcs faster than sight could follow, and the edges of Narsil shone with the light of the Sun and Moon combined, cleaving all hell-wrought armour with ease. Telchar, most gifted of all the Dwarf-wrights of Old wrought it in the deeps of time; this sword was the masterpeice of his long life, and was unsurpassed as a weapon against the Enemy. Only cold Ringil of Fingolfin and black Gurthang of Turambar ever matched its deadliness.
And so it proved: Elendil himself slew five hundred of the Uruks, and twenty of the giant Olog-Hai also fell before his blade. Gil-Galad destroyed the Host of the Zherak-Hai almost single-handed; and it seemed that with every cursed life they took the Warrior Generals of the West were renewed in strength, and their vigour rose with the joy of battle, and the Enemy fled before their faces. Together they clove a path to a high hill of stone, and set their standards side by side: the White Tree and the Rayed Star amid the Field of Blue.
But a huge troll-cheiftan leapt before them bellowing, and swung his barbed club at the flagposts in his rage. The curved point of Aiglos ran him through, and his black entrails gushed out painting the rocks below; then Gil-Galad put forth his great strength, and lifted the Troll screaming on high, and cast him as a missile into the ranks of the Orcs below, crushing many under his dead weight. A Black Numenorean then came from behind under a veil of sorcery, hoping to slay Gil-Galad unseen, but the blade of Elendil came down upon his helm, and his body was divided down its middle by the force of the blow, and fell in two gruesome halves.
Then the Orcs fled, and the knights of Elendil and Gil-Galad massed about the foot of the hill in great force, defending their Lords with a forest of bright steel. Ever deeper had they invested the Hosts of Mordor, and had cut almost to its beating heart, and the Will that held them in fear and tyranny.

But the teeming thousands of their Enemy were parting from the rear, and the Shadow of Sauron, long feared in battle, was now approaching; and His footsteps shook the very earth. Upon His left was the Wraithlord Morgul, and upon His right stalked the brutal mass of Gothmog, Lord and Father of the Olog-Hai; and about Him marched the deathly Nazgul as His personal guard. More than twice the height of Elendil did He stand, and he loomed over the Roquen of Gondor and Arnor as a black tower of flickering flame. Then the Lord of Mordor lifted the dread weapon Henghe-Rai aloft, and struck at his enemy.

The effect was terrible: such was the weight of that awful weapon, and the ancient might of the Black Hand that weilded it, that the entire front line was swept away in sudden ruin. As skilled in combat as they were the Roquen of Elendil were cast as blown sand over the heads of their comrades, and their armour was no defense against the hatred of Sauron; their shattered bodies flew apart in pieces, and fell hundreds of feet away as a hail of blood and gore. Those foolhardy enough to strike at the Dark Lord were as quickly dispatched, for their swords shattered upon His armour, and the bones of their arms were broken by the counterspells that lay therein. And He clutched them with the great claw of his Black Hand, and lifted them high into the air; and they screamed in their agony as he set His fire in their flesh, and flung them as flaming shot amid their brethren. Thus He continued, killing hundreds in an orgy of death, unchecked, unchallenged; a towering machine of murder glorying in its dreadful work.
Then the great bow of slain Oropher sang, weilded by Thranduil his son. Clear and straight did his last arrow fly, toward the shifting horror of Saurons face. The archers of Celeborn and Amroth took his lead, and they loosed the last of their darts upon the Lord of Mordor.

But Sauron raised his Black Hand high, and lo! it burst forth in great flame, and the arrow of Thranduil burnt to ash as it approached, as did all the arrows of the Galadhrim, who cried in dismay; and the Dark Lord came on undaunted, surrounded by a nimbus of heat and smoke. The Fire and the Shadow gathered strength about the terrible majesty of His person, and it seemed as though a Balrog of Old had come among them, but with far greater power and cunning; and the hearts of the Eldar were filled with an ancient fear. And He slew Elves and Men at will as they fled in terror; the viscera of their broken bodies fell in thick sheets of red rain, and the laughter of Sauron was as the grinding together of iron mountains.
Then Sauron cast his Eye upon the hill of stone, and he saw there the gleam of Narsil and Aiglos, and the undimmed light that surrounded their bearers - an open challenge to the consuming darkness of His Shadow. With a cry of hatred he thrust forth, gathering to him the the Wraithlord Morgul and his Nazgul, and mighty Gothmog, and His pupil, the Mouth, also came. Together they charged the hill, and the remnants of Elendils guard were swept aside, and the remaining Eldar of Lindon were crushed beneath their merciless feet.

So suddenly had victory turned to defeat that Gil-Galad laughed as though fey, and turned to his friend.
"And so upon Mount Doom shall Doom fall, friend of mine. Here comes our death, but I say we make them pay dearly for our lives price! And we shall do deadly hurt to their Lord ere we fall! For does not the might of Fingolfin flow within me? And does not the power of Melian, His ancient foe, run in thy veins? - ever shall her Earthly children return to foil His purpose, and I deem both truths are now come to their testing."

But Elendil said nothing, and smiled, his grey hair blowing in the wind. He gave the Elven Lord his arm, and Gil-Galad grasped it as he had done in the Gulf of Lhun, when this Leader of Men was delivered from the wrack of fallen Numenor, and their friendship born. Then the two Kings of the West, mighty allies, leaders of their race, comrades of unbreakable friendship - they held their weapons aloft in the face of their Doom. Together they turned their faces to the storm, and the light of Aiglos and Narsil shone fair and desperate before the oncoming Shadow.

[Arryle]

But Elendil said nothing, and smiled, his grey hair blowing in the wind. He gave the Elven Lord his arm, and Gil-Galad grasped it as he had done in the Gulf of Lhun, when this Leader of Men was delivered from the wrack of fallen Numenor, and their friendship born. Then the two Kings of the West, mighty allies, leaders of their race, comrades of unbreakable friendship - they held their weapons aloft in the face of their Doom. Together they turned their faces to the storm, and the light of Aiglos and Narsil shone fair and desperate before the oncoming Shadow.

Just...WOW!!!!!!!!!! Excellent Moru!

[Moru]

But they were not alone.

At the foot of the hill leapt Glorfindel and Celeborn, and Elrond; with them were Amroth and Thranduil, and Cirdan of the Sindar, and behind these were Gildor Inglorion, and Erestor of Mithlond. And last of all, hewing their way to the hill came the stout strength of Durin, Lord of Khazad-Dum, and Isildur, Heir of Elendil. Thus the Captains of the Alliance barred the path of the Dark Lord and His servants, and such courage has never been seen since in the world of war.

The Shadow halted, in sudden doubt. He had not counted on such a stand, deeming that by His cunning the power of the Free Peoples broken forever; but here they stood, facing death without fear. Yet the deeds of courage and sacrifice are ever bewildering to the cruel and the craven, and to what moves such acts they remain forever blind.
With a great cry of anger the Dark Lord sent his servants on before him. The Wraithlord Morgul sprang upon bright Glorfindel, and Gothmog swung at Durin with his mighty hammer - the Mouth strove against the silver light of Celeborn in songs of power, and the Nazgul surged forth as one, and fell upon the remaining captains with cries of death. But try as they might, the captains of Sauron could not come at Gil-Galad and Elendil. The melee separated into two battling groups, and neither side would impart any ground, nor recieved any quarter - but no advantage could one gain over the other, so evenly matched as they were. And so deadly were these combatants that the rank and file of their own hosts gave them wide berth; none dared interfere in such a mortal contest, and a great open space spread about the hill of stone. But the Alliance were now without their captains and champions, and the hosts of Mordor threw their weight upon the flagging strength of the West in endless waves; and hope began to fail.

Then the Lord of Mordor leapt full upon Haudh-en-Ambar, and the stone splintered under the weight of his feet. His shadow spread out over the hilltop, and the light of the Elendilmir was extinguished; and the two Generals of the Alliance, accounted great amongst their own kin appeared small before the towering might of Sauron. The Ringlord held His right hand aloft, and by the power in Him wrought an encircling wall of flame about the base of the hill; high did it climb, and blazed forth with terrific heat. The rock of the hillside began to melt, and glowed dull red. Now they were alone, and no aid could come to them.

Then Sauron addressed Gil-Galad, and His voice was as falling thunder, and the bitter piercing of knives.
"In me lies thy Doom, Son of Fingon, and the utter ruin of all thou hold dear. And I shall make it as cruel and as my thought can contrive - and know this: all this hast thou earned fully. Order and Rule under my Hand could have been, but thou hast spurned my gifts, and my wisdom. Thou shalt suffer a great burning, and thy body consumed in slow flame: and thine ashes mingled with the dusts of Gorgoroth. Think not that I am grieved; for I shall take great mirth in thy agony. And when I have stripped thee of thy raiment of flesh I shall hold thy soul in bonds of eternal torment, and thy naked self shall forever wither and burn before the Lidless Eye. Then shall I hold myself somewhat repaid for thy wanton rebellion, and the folly thou hast spread as canker amid my realm."
"But do not despair, Son of Amandil," He said in a soft voice, turning towards Elendil. "Thy surviving son I shall spare, and bind his spirit unto mine. Isildur will walk with me down all the Ages of this World as my pupil, as should have been aforetime in Numenor; and I shall remake him in my image. Together we shall strive to make Gondor and Arnor as fair as my land of Mordor, and he shall rule her broken peoples with a fist of iron, in my name. Think on that, Child of the Downfallen West, and perhaps thine end may not seem as bitter." and the glazed eyes of Sauron glittered eagerly from the writhing horror of His burning face, but His laughter was cold and cruel.

But the King of Western Men stared his foe full in the face, and the Dark Lord's mirth faltered before the steel of his gaze. He called to the Lord of Mordor in tones of scorn, saying:
"Even at our first meeting in golden Armenelos did I mark thee as craven, slave of Morgoth. Ever shalt thou prove this, hiding behind the might of others; and when even this fails and thou art constrained to come forth in person, even then shalt thou seek to weaken thine enemy with words. Empty and worthless I deem them, as I deem thee, and all thy long life. From naught did thou come, and to naught shall we dispatch thee; for between us lies unfinished work! A lost nation dost thou owe me, and a murdered son, and a future darkened; long years have I endured, waiting to exact Numenor's vengeance - and from thine own foul hide shall I take it!"

And Sauron stood as one amazed, and struggled with His rage; bright embers fell from the fire of His black hand, and his great body shook with barely suppressed wrath.

Then Gil-Galad laughed, loud and clear, and called to his friend over the roar of the surrounding flames:
"Behold, son of Numenor - here stands the Base Master of Lies and Treachery speechless at last! Were I to know the noise of His foul mouth so easily silenced, we of the Eldar might have saved ourselves much grief. Pity this poor fool before us Elendil, this spirit blind and lost; great service to Arda He might have rendered in His youth, but pride and vanity have dragged His wisdom down into dotard darkness." and now Gil-Galad looked Sauron in the eye, and the gaze of the Elven-King was keen and piercing.
"Order and rule He speaks of, but in His most secret thought lies the truth of it, the truth that He denies even to Himself: that tyrants such as He can create nothing, only corrupt and destroy - and so to naught do they return at their ending. Look to the burning misery of His body, and tell me that I lie! The emptiness of the Void awaits thee, Sauron of Mordor, Lord of Nothing: so it was with Morgoth, so shall it be with his slave!"
And at this Saurons wrath overran, for Gil-Galad had struck at a truth which the Dark Lord did indeed deny in His pride; that He had struggled in vain to recreate his former beauty after the wrack of Numenor, but such powers of creation were now forever lost to Him - and in the solitude of Barad-Dur He had raged in anger and hopeless frustration. And moreso, because he would forever be regarded as but a slave, following only in the steps of His defeated master: hoping to bring Order he would bring only destruction, poisoning the World which he so desired.
His fury was thus kindled to blind madness by the words of the Elven King, and He let cry a deafening roar of hatred, bestial and mindless; and He lunged at his enemies with drunken gait, launching Henghe-Rai in wild assault.

Many times did the Dark Lord essay to smite his enemy, but by their great skill did they elude Him, and the rock of the hill was shattered to black dust about their feet. But the strength of Sauron was bound to the Ring, which was in turn bound to the life of the Earth itself; by this He clothed Himself in power, and was now the most mighty Maia ever to have walked the World. He would never tire in combat whilst He weilded the Ruling Ring, and no sign of weakness could in Him be read.
Whereas Gil-Galad and Elendil were of flesh, and peerless among their kind as they were they were already weary from many battles, and deeds of surpassing valour, and seven long years of perilous seige. And they gasped in the suffocating heat that enveloped them, and their wills ebbed as they toiled against the overmastering might of their Enemy. But ever did they rally their strength, and pressed forth their own attack, and Sauron was at times hard put to defend Himself from the deadly thrusts of Aiglos and Narsil.
On they fought through the long hours of that last dreadful day, and it was as though those three were destined to forever strive thus, the Elf, the Man and the Spirit Abhorrent. Their figures were etched black and stark against the inferno's red glare, as immutable sculpture hewn from unbreakable stone; and the fate of all Middle-Earth hung heavy in the balance.

[Arryle]

Oh man...things are looking mighty tough for our heroes!!

Please keep going!

[Moru]

The Alliance fought on without hope as night fell in Mordor. The Host of the West had steadily dwindled in number, and they wer now less than one tenth of their strength at Dagorlad; but they rallied, and gathered together for a last stand upon the shoulders of Mount Doom. Below, the captains of Gil-Galad, together with Isildur and Lord Durin of Kazad-Dum were engaged in deadly combat with the cheiftans of Barad-Dur.
But upon Haudh-en-Ambar, the Hill of Fate, all was hidden behind a veil of flame, for the base of that black outcrop burned with unnatural fire, and not even the undead Nazgul would dare come near.

Within, the Lord of Mordor bore down upon Gil-Galad and Elendil with unrelenting hatred. It was the King of Men who first succumbed to exhaustion, as Sauron had well foreseen. The heat within that inferno was too great for mortal flesh to long endure; moreover, Elendil was weakened with long trial, and great age, and most of all grief for his dead son.
So it was that he stumbled, and fell to his knees, helpless before the Dark Lord. Gil-Galad cried aloud, and reckless leapt to his friends aid: but the cunning of Sauron ran deep, for this was but a ruse. As Gil-Galad came flying near the Dark Lord unclasped his long cloak, and faster than a striking serpent flung it full in the face of the Elven King. A gift of Old from the Vampire Thuringwethil it was, and was woven from fell materials with all her ancient skill, and her secret knowledge, and her hatred of light. Gil-Galad fell sprawling, for that cloak was accursed with spells of utter darkness, and it seemed to the Elven King that he was struck blind and deaf, and struggled in vain within formless void. It wrapped about his body as though itself alive, and began to bear him slowly away, crawling over the stones with long fingered claws.
Then the Ringlord laughed, thinking His opponents vanquished at last. For a moment He stood thus, gloating over Gil-Galad who struggled, entombed, suffocating within hellish folds. Then he bent his malice upon the King of Men. But Elendil had discovered some last hidden reserve, and climbing to his feet hurled himself at Sauron, even as the Dark Lord had turned. Whither by some divine agency, or undying hatred of his foe, or ancestry long foretold; Elendil found his strength, greatest of all mortals of that Age, and sent the deadly light of Narsil into the Shadow of his enemy.

"Numenor!" he cried with his last breath, and his blade flew up in glittering arc. And lo! the impenetrable armour of Sauron was shorn from belt to mighty chestplate, the hell-fused metals tearing apart as frail tin, and the flesh of His body beneath was deeply scored. Black blood and embers issued from the rent, and the Dark Lord arched back unable to cry aloud for His pain, all the more for being unexpected. And the Lord of Mordor was also in amazement and great fear, for he had forged his armour with the power of the Ruling Ring which no Child of Arda could overcome. But He had taken no account of Elendils' heritage, and the blood of Her who was coeval with Him in the Beginning.
But such was the power of the blow that Narsil passed on through armour and flesh unhindered, and stuck fast in the ground at Elendils' back, quivering at a low angle. Upon it leaned the King of Men, spent at last, his waking thought labouring at the edge of black oblivion.
So wearied was he that he marked not the mighty weapon of iron raised high above him, nor did he hear the bellow of venomous ire that accompanied its fall, and he could not even raise an arm to ward the blow.

With a strength born before the World, the Dark Lord brought Henghe-Rai hurtling down upon his foe, and the weight of it was as a mountain cast flaming from the sky. Upon the upraised chestplate of Elendil did it impact, and drove him and his sword into the hard ground. The mithril-steel of Narsil received much of that mortal blow, and shattered into a thousand glittering fragments; its light was extinguished, and thus did the greatest work of Telchar pass from the World. But the earth broke apart beneath the King of Men, and the hill foundered.
To Elendil there was an instant of crushing pain, and a flash of blinding light. Bound upon his brow, the Elendilmir burst forth with the glare of ten thousand stars, and it flared in grief at the death-blow of its bearer. The shadows about him were cast back in stark relief, and all appeared in sharp contrast, white or black before that sudden radiance. Then it seemed to the King that he was utterly alone, cast adrift upon an island veiled from the senses of flesh. He could no longer move his body, but felt neither weariness nor pain; neither could he hear the din of battle surrounding Haudh-en-Ambar, nor the roaring flames, and his sight was dimmed.
But the light of the Elendilmir seared the eyes of Sauron with pain unbearable, and falling backward He cried aloud, His great arms flailing wildly before His face. Clutching at his wounded chest He groped vainly for Henghe-Rai, which had fallen useless from His hand. Behind them, unseen by all, Gil-Galad cut his way from his clinging prison, and lay gasping upon the ground.
But slowly the eyes of the Dark Lord recovered from their blindness, and He took up again the Iron of Cruel Death. High above His head did he raise it, snarling with bestial noises of hate; and he took unsteady aim at Elendil with a mighty two-handed blow. For a brief while He paused, taking pleasure in the sight of his broken enemy, His other foe forgotten.

Too late. Too late had he regained his sight, and his footing. Too long had Sauron indulged the evil of His black heart, and this time once too often, to his undoing. For speeding under the cone of His wounded vision came bright Gil-Galad, and he stood fast over his fallen ally. With a cry of grief, and an almighty thrust of his arms he drove Aiglos into the rent that Elendil had made, and the glaive of that peerless weapon passed into the body of the Ringlord. Then Sauron screamed, a high rending wail of agony, and his hands grasped the air in clutching spasms; and Henghe-Rai, that dread cause of a thousand deaths fell again from His hands - but this time broke at His feet. With the anger of vengeance fulfilled Gil-Galad showed his matchless strength, and bore the Dark Lord stumbling backwards until they came to a high pier of rock, thrust from the violence of their battle. Then, with a wall of stone at Sauron's back, the Scion of the Noldor drove Aiglos deeper still into the chest of his great enemy, and a torrent of smoking blood gushed forth, collecting in noisome pools that consumed the very ground.

"Feel this, Slave of Morgoth!" cried Ereinion Gil-Galad, son of Fingon, his clear voice rising even above the woe of Sauron. "Feel the vengeance of the Eldar, and the Khazad, and of all the tribes of Men resolved! Aiglos now collects payment of thy sins, long left unmet. Now comes thy death, and the Ending of Evil!" and the King twisted the blades of Aiglos inside the body of the Dark Lord; His insides crunched and tore, and the shuddering groans of His agony were deeper than the Abyss.
But at Gil-Galads words the Ring shone forth unveiled as a wheel of wrathful fire; It would not let Its great Master be bested thus, He who lived ere the Earth was given Form, defeated by a mere Child of the World. And Sauron laid hands upon the Elven-King despite His pain, and bore him up before the malice of His eyes. Flames ran from the gaping wounds of His body, and from the surrounding inferno the Dark Lord gathered fire and flying ember, and Gil-Galad burned within the crushing strength of the Black Hand. With His free hand, the Dark Lord broke the haft of Aiglos, and cast the polehandle upon the ground. Then he spoke with mockery to the King of the Noldor, and blood ran from his mouth in flaming rivulets:
"Thou darest speak to me of burning and of darkness, of the failing of my skill and the marring of my beauty! See this, fool - if Middle-Earth faileth in its wisdom, and bendeth not to my will, then verily shall it burn! Yea, I shall set land after land before me in the fires of Hell, until all the World be whelmed in flame, and so brought to ruinous ash. And with thyself shall I begin!" and the great claw of the Black Hand shone as though of living immolation, then glaring white, as the hatred of Sauron passed into Ereinion Gil-Galad.
The King cried aloud in his agony, and his fair skin withered and blackened, and his hair burned from his blistering scalp; yet his hand remained strong upon the broken haft of Aiglos.

"Aure Entuluva!" he cried, ere the failure of his life. With a last despairing effort of will, Gil-Galad thrust the spear fully through his foe; it stuck fast into the wall of rock, and Sauron was skewered as a slaughtered beast. The steaming innards of the Dark Lord spilled over his own body, and foul organs, dislodged from their housing fell still beating upon the stony floor, whence they burst amid putrid humours. The Death-Scream of Sauron was mighty, scarce as great as the Cry of Morgoth in the Elder Days. The ground shook, and the stones of Mount Doom were riven asunder, and the flames about the high hill of rock were blown out. The Scream reached out with terrible power across the plains of Gorgoroth, filling all Mordor, and the fences of Ered Lithui and Ephel Duath might not contain it; the clamorous echoes passed on over sea and ocean, and all the denizens of the Englobed World froze in terror.
The battling hosts were stunned, and many fell to their knees, clutching at their ears in pain. And they ceased their war, caught in the vice of cold shock; to all it seemed that their hearts suddenly failed of rythm and beat. All now strained their eyes toward Haudh-en-Ambar, to see what dreadful doom had transpired.

A deadly silence fell.

[L—miothiel]

Wow... I am speechless. I cannot begin to say how well you have captured this important part of the saga of Middle Earth. Long left in the dark, your words have captured the essence of Tolkien. You are truly a gifted historian and weaver of words. I have often imagined how Tolkien might have elaborated this event, and this is more than I could have hoped for!

Originally Posted by Moru

"Feel this, Slave of Morgoth!" cried Ereinion Gil-Galad, son of Fingon, his clear voice rising even above the woe of Sauron. "Feel the vengeance of the Eldar, and the Khazad, and of all the tribes of Men resolved! Aiglos now collects payment of thy sins, long left unmet. Now comes thy death, and the Ending of Evil!" and the King twisted the blades of Aiglos inside the body of the Dark Lord; His insides crunched and tore, and the shuddering groans of His agony were deeper than the Abyss.

When I read this, my heart caught in my throat. You have captured the very soul of my favorite character and the friendship of the Alliance therein in a way I have never read before. I am utterly at a loss to express how wonderful this has been to read, yet I hope this reply does that justice. I cannot wait to read more!

[Moru]

Not even the winds of Gorogoroth could be heard, as though even Nature herself dared not break the stillness of that moment. All about the shattered ruin of Haudh-en-Ambar lay smoke and the fume of burned stone, and these veils hid their content from all sight, however keen. It was Isildur who first stirred, and he ran to the foot of the hill, heedless of his peril. The Prince of Gondor scaled the glowing rockface, and plunged into the shadow. For a moment he foundered, for the sweltering air assailed him like a striking wall, and he gasped in the unrelenting heat. Isildur choked upon the foul mists, for the air was acrid and dry as tinder, and his throat was raw from breathing.
"Attarinya! Attarinya!" he cried, over and over in fear and dread, for his secret thought told him that his father had come to deadly hurt.

Isildur came to a clearing in the smoke, and he saw there his father, Elendil, his body broken upon the ground. The King lay in the channel of a great pit, and jagged rents issued from the centre in lines of force. The armour of his chestplate was sunken and cracked; Elendil breathed in short faltering gasps, and blood ran from his mouth and ears. About him was scattered the shattered fragments of Narsil; in his hand lay the hilt, a shard of bright blade still attached.
Isildur fell to his knees as though struck by a blow, and he laid his head at the shoulder of his father; his grief was torn from his heart in great convulsions of misery, and he wept without restraint. He pounded the earth with his steel-shod fist in rage and remorse, cursing himself for not being at his fathers' side in his time of need; and in his madness of grief it mattered not that he was constrained by enemies many times his own match, nor had held ground with exceeding valour, staying the Nazgul in their charge.
"Atta! Atta! Forgive me! Forgive my weakness! Anarion should have lived, and I died! Forgive thy son, weakest and most worthless of thy line." and the prince buried his face in his hands, crushed by shame and despair. But then he felt a comforting hand upon his head. His fathers eyes opened slightly, and with labour he spoke to his son.

"Despair not, Kings Son. Thy father is filled with pride by thy deeds of prowess - be not unjust in thy grief. No man could have done more. Harden thy heart, though it be broken; there are deeds of valour yet to do, and men to lead, and the field is not yet won. So I told myself at Anarions' fall. And so now must my son, and Heir." and at this Elendil passed the Elendilmir into the hands of his son. Isuldur gazed at it in amazement, and from it shone a soft radiance. Yet as soon as the light grew it began to fail, for a Shadow had returned, and grew apace.

But the power of the Ring could not be undone. The body of Sauron had fallen from the haft of Aiglos, and had lain in ruin while Isildur sought his father in the smoke. But even as the King spoke to his son, the Ring awoke, and the eviscerated shell of the Dark Lord began to move. The terrible wounds of his body were beginning to slowly close over, and the torment of life returned to the Lord of Mordor. Shivering with woe, wracked by the agony of flesh reformed, Sauron rose again, and step by tortuous step, made His way toward His enemy. He vomited without control, and gouts of thick black blood fell streaming from his retching mouth; and the stone beneath Him was consumed. Halt of foot He was also, for the mighty bones of His leg had twisted and broken in his fall, and a trail of fire followed his lumbering gait. But at last Sauron came before his foes, and loomed above them, huge and terrible - but frail; for He was almost blind in His pain, and lurched as He stood. The noise of His laboured breathing was as the churning of some broken engine of Hell, wrought of iron gears that ground each other in attrition. The Black Hand was raised aloft, surrounded by a nimbus of blazing heat; but amidmost shone the Ring of Power, burning with a fire hotter than the heart of the Sun. The shadows were cast back, and all was lit with a wrathful red glare. But Sauron tottered and swayed as a tower whose keystones are suddenly removed, and which, for a moment, hangs perilously balanced, before crashing ruin takes it perforce.

Elendil spoke to his son in earnest, grasping him with what little strength remained. He struggled to find breath, and flecks of blood flew from his mouth from haste of speech.
"It is from the Wheel of Fire that He draws His power, my son... not by any deed of battle may Sauron be defeated, not while he weilds It still... It must be claimed, my son... by another, before His eyes, against His will... Isildur, look to the Wheel of Fire!.." and with that he thrust the hilt of Narsil, hidden by the shadow of his body, into the hand of his heir; and Isildur turned to face the Demon that stooped to grasp him. For an instant all his eyes saw was enveloping flame, and the shimmering shape of a huge black claw, growing ever larger as it neared. The intense heat assailed him, and his vision blurred and doubled, then tripled. Then, at last, he saw it.
The Wheel of Fire shone forth unsullied from the darkness of Saurons hand. Glaring white it was, and seemed by its terrible light separated somehow from the physical world, a burning window into a realm without form, where existed only blinding power and the frenzied flux of Chaos.
Isildur drew back the remains of his fathers sword, and the light of the Sun and Moon burst clear and bright from Narsil's Shard; and with it shone the rays of the Elendilmir, challenging the unholy flame of the One Ring.





Then Isildur let fly with all the strength of his arm. The broken blade flew upwards with terrific speed, spinning end over end in a glittering line, unnering in its precision, undimmed in its light, carrying with it the hope of all Middle-Earth.





The ring-finger of the Black Hand was shorne clear below the first knuckle, and a spray of burning embers burst from the wound. The Ring struck the ground with terrible force, and under Its weight the stone splintered; the charred finger crumbled away, as the ashes of spent coal. The Dark Lord tried to scream in his anguish, but was strangled by the boiling well of black blood filling his throat. He grasped at his ruined hand in agony, and fell to his mighty knees before Prince Isildur, son and heir of King Elendil. Then Isildur stooped, and with his gauntleted hand lifted the Ruling Ring; his muscles strained to tearing, as though he bore a burden many times his own weight. But as he lifted It, the Ring seemed to grow less heavy, or rather he (as his heart told him, being beguiled) was suddenly made strong beyond the limits of Men; and the prince stood in wonder, thinking what he might do with such a mighty gift. A man may bring Order and Peace to the World in his own lifetime; and even as this thought arose in his mind he was aware that, while he bore It, he would withstand all the tides of earthly weariness.. He would live on forever, unbowed by age, with limitless power at his disposal; and Isildur was suddenly amazed at how, from this thing borne of evil so much good could come. 'And surely such a fate would be to the greatest spite of Its maker', his thought spoke, besotted.
But the golden gleam of the Ring danced most beautifully for the pleasure of his eyes, and Isildur stood as though lost in a dream. It was indeed a thing of the highest worth, wrought of the finest skill, to be defended with all prejudice; the Ring was altogether... precious.
Before him Sauron seemed physically crushed, a withered shadow of what had been; the fires of his hatred were now extinguished, and his wailing was thin, and hollow, filled with endless woe. With supplicating hands the Lord of Mordor reached for the Ring, begging for pity and mercy, trying in vain to entreat his enemy, who stood before him, tall, unnassailable in victory.

At the grasping hand of the Dark Lord Isildur returned with wrath from his musing. He saw before him a creature of the sewers, a cringing wretch, cunning in thought, sly in action, a slinking thief pawing at his treasure, that precious device with which he would set the foundations of the future. Jealous anger filled Isildur, and a ferocious need to claim and protect his prize, and he flung the gauntlet from his right hand so that it lay bare, and held it high. And Isildur stood before his kneeling foe, each face now of equal height to the other; he withheld the Ring before the Dark Lord in mockery, and said:
"Dost thou see this, Lord Sauron? Herein lies all thy hope, and the bond that holdeth thy foul spirit fast to the World. Death and misery hast thou wrought by it, but now it comes to a new bearer. And He shall heal all the wounds of Middle-Earth, and still all the tears of her Children, and under His hand shall be Order and Rule, and Peace everlasting. Never again shalt thy hand touch this treasure! Never again shalt thou have power enough to imperil life and light! A quaking ghost shalt thou become, shorn of power, broken of will, mindless and lost, roaming forever blind amid the timeless Void!" and Isildur seemed now to grow, measureless in height before his defeated enemy, who cowered, shrunken in defeat. His mood fey, his pride unmastered in madness, Isildur stood wrapped in shadow, and the light of his eyes was wrathful and terrible; and it seemed that even as one Dark Lord fell, another had arisen.

With a strength beyond all the Children of Arda, Isildur's mighty voice rang out, filling the valley of Gorgoroth with unnatural power:
"Isildur claims the treasure of Sauron by Right of Conquest, as weregild for his lost birthland, his slain brother, and his fallen King! The Ring... IS MINE!"

And with that he clasped the One Ring in his upraised fist. And at that moment there was great tumult, and confusion of noise, for many things happened.

[Moru]

The Ring blazed with flame in Isildurs grasp, and it sank into the flesh of his palm like a branding iron fresh from the fire - thereafter he bore the elvish script of the band unto the ending of his days. The prince cried aloud, for the pain of that burning was biting and keen, and it drove all thought from his mind. Isildur fell back, but looked about him aghast, forgetting for a moment his anguish; for he was now surrounded by events of mighty legend.

Before Isildur Sauron kneeled, hands to the floor, palms heavenward, head bowed - but the Dark Lord was Dark no longer. Light began to well from within the folded depths of his armour, and it formed about him a shining halo, brighter than the face of the Sun; ever stronger grew that glare, until it became impossible to directly look upon. A great inrush of air began, all gathering toward the Lord of Mordor. It was as though a void had opened upon Mount Doom - a rent torn in the fabric of Arda that all her matter flew to fill. The inrush became a wind, thence a gale, stronger than the storms of Manwe, until it rose to an overmastering tempest: steel bannerpoles snapped like dry twigs, flags tore at their seams, dust and ash surged in billowing clouds, and those nigh to Haudh-en-Ambar were constrained to grasp a boulder, or cling desperate to some broken feature of the ground.
But those deepest in lore amongst the surviving Eldar knew this to be the withdrawl of Saurons thought, the breaking of that Will that set all Mordor in bonds of slavery. And those few with power over the Unseen could discern ghostly tendrils moving amid the creatures of Sauron, all of them connected inward to their Master; Gorgoroth seemed for a moment alive with writhing webs of spectral light. The Orcs and Trolls fell to their knees, tearing at their eyes and throats with claws, the Wargs set upon each other, foaming rabid and unmastered, and the Fell Beasts hurtled from the sky with dismal cries, falling like stones sightless from their high course. And the Ulairi, those foul sprits thought to be invincible before the face of their great Master, they fell to the ground, shaking arms raised to the red sky; their piercing screams overtopped even the roar of the storm, and their armour fractured, buckling as though bearing fathomless pressures.

~ *** ~

Then, for an instant, between the beats of Isildurs pounding heart, the tempest ceased; and it seemed to him that the oceans of time had frozen over. About Haudh-en-Ambar the hosts of the battle were utterly still, as though carved from unmoving stone, and no sound could be heard. Isildur stood slowly, as though removed from the realm of waking thought. The prince stared in awe, undaunted by the Death-Light of Saurons passing; and the pain of his burns troubled him no more, caught as he was between wonder and terror.

~ *** ~

Where once had been the hulking form of the Dark Lord there now kneeled a graceful figure, robed in shining white; white wings stretched fair from behind his back. His arms were flung wide, palms up, and his face, beautiful beyond the limits of Ardas Children, was turned heavenward - but grief and horror were written there, and abject misery; tears spilled from his eyes. In one hand there lay a white rose, and in the other a coin of gold. He yearned to look upon them both, yet was constrained from doing so, for by his wrists was he fettered with unyeilding chains either side to the ground. Ever did he strive to bring both treasures into view, yet the manacles bit deeper, and his anguish grew the greater, until despairing rage took him, marring the splendour of his countenance. His fair face became wrathful and hideous, and the light that emanated from him became sickly, mocking what it had once been. His robes turned black, and his wings were as the clinging webs of a monstrous vampire; the soft radiance that bathed him had now turned to raging flame. In his fury the figure crushed the rose, and it shattered as though crafted from delicate crystal, and he flung the coin to the floor, whence it broke into many pieces. And then the manacles gave, and the chains snapped, and he grasped his head in his hands, overwrought with loss; his wail of anguish was filled with agony, and despair, and falling pride.
There then came a flare of blinding light, and an almighty outward shock of force: Isildur was hurled back into the world of living time, and he struck the ground hard by his father, stunned.

From the shining void where Sauron had been there issued a sudden blasting wind, and it thundered out across the shoulders of Orodruin, down through the pits and cliffs and crags of Gorgoroth, gaining in speed and potency. All of that warring multitude were struck instantly to the ground, for the strength of this blast could not be withstood. They writhed upon the floor in torment, for the unholy spirit of the Abhorred One had filled their minds as it fled, and it left a residue of horror, incurable hatred for all things, insurmountable pride, scenes of torture and atrocity; and finally an endless darkness, enveloping, inescapable.
Those near Haudh-en-Ambar were saved only by their nearness to the centre, and those surviving thousands of the Alliance were protected by the dark bulk of Orodruins shoulder. But those hordes who thronged upon the plain did not fare so well, for they took the brunt in the open, and Gorgoroth thus became a churning sea of charnel ruin. The gigantic wave of pressure bloomed across the plains of Mordor, spreading apocalyptic death, pale and terrible, annihilating all before its path, moving faster than the wings of sound itself. Eastward was its course, and the foundations of Barad-Dur reeled in its wake. On it sped, raging into the shadows of the Ered Lithui. The Eastern branch of that range received its full force, and from North to distant South those dark peaks were razed to the ground, utterly levelled by the power of His passing.
The steel shells of the Nazgul were broken into dust, their dying cries lost in the din.

The Towers of Barad Dur lurched westward for what seemed like an eternity of time, looming over the plains beneath, but then finally fell: spires, battlements, impregnable walls of defence, prisons, factories, buttresses and fluted pillars, great engines of fire cast and iron shot, sheer cliffs of tortured rock, - the entire piled Mountain Throne of Sauron came crashing down in thunderous wreckage. Only its twisted basalt base remained, the foundations rising from the flaming moat like a blackened fang. Great billowing plumes of smoke and ash filled all the Eastern horizon, mantled with livid lightnings; and it was shaped like a flailing claw, the ring-finger missing. And last of all, turning by its massive weight slowly through the clouds, the Iron Crown of the Great Tower was hurled from that high place down into the wrack of the Haunted Plain, and the detonation of its impact shook the World. For hundreds of miles about Mordor heaved and reeled; the land split, bottomless chasms yawned wide, pits large as cities were gouged from the flesh of the earth; and the maps of that age were redrawn.


Mount Doom convulsed, and launched towering columns of flame soaring into the crimson sky; her cone was rent and split by sheer force of eruption, and her oppressive height was forever diminished. For a few brief seconds of terror she raged, and then was silent, her fires dead and cold at last. The fire she hurled at the sky came to ground on the surrounding plains, and the surviving Hordes of Sauron were caught in a deluge of flame, fleeing this way and that in horror as fire devoured them. By Orodruins wrath the low skies of Mordor were unroofed, and a Western wind blew fresh and cleansing from the sea, routing the clinging shadows of that Black Land. And for the first time for many thousands of years the Sun shone clear and bright in Mordor, golden from a blue sky to the woe of Trolls. Day had come again.

But the clear ringing of silver trumpets could now be heard - the rearguard of Osgiliath, led out of Udun by Meneldil son of Anarion, met with the small army of Elendur son of Isildur who held Cirith Duath in the West; together they routed the remaining thousands of Saurons broken Empire, driving their enemy wailing into the firey depths of Sir Naur.

It was over.

[Arryle]

Wow...powerfully written, especially the last words of Elendil to Isildur.

I wanted to tell you that I have recommended this fic to others here on the board, and to a one, although they have not posted such, they have all loved it!

[Moru]

The last echoes of Mordors destruction died, and a sweet rain began to fall, glistening in the golden sunlight. Less than half a tenth of the Alliance remained alive. They sank to their knees blessing their fortune; but sorrow was mingled with relief, and all were bent with weeping. The waters washed clean the filth and wreckage of war, and the air was filled with the sounds of grief, and the soft sigh of rainfall.

The forces of Meneldil and Elendur had returned: the Hosts of Mordor were utterly destroyed, only scant hundreds had managed to escape their disaster, fleeing Eastward towards Khand, which now lay open. But he who called himself the Mouth had vanished without trace, and that Lord of Trolls, brutal Gothmog, could not be found. The soldiery of the rearguard crafted biers for the bearing of the fallen. But Meneldil alone carried the mighty body of Anarion, his face streaked with tears; for he was bidden by Elendil to remain in Udun to prevent Saurons northerly escape, and had greatly loved his father. Now regret and remorse wracked him, and his back was bent with misery. Thus the command of the army came to Elendur son of Isildur, and he went to and fro amid the Alliance in haste, seeking healers of the Eldar that might yet save the wounded from the jaws of death.

But the mists of Haudh-en-Ambar had cleared, and the Lords Cirdan and Elrond climbed to its summit, seeking their King. They found him, Ereinion Gil-Galad, lying in charred ruin beneath the pier of stone: his legs and lower body were burned almost to ashes, and his left arm had been shorn away in his struggle with Sauron. Only half of his fair face remained unafflicted - the other blackened by fire, the eye blind. They stooped in misery to lift the remains of his body, but the strength of Fingolfins Line still remained, and he yet clung to life. Despite his agony he spoke to them, his voice faint and faltering.
"My Lords, bear me to Elendil, so that we might share words ere the end. Be swift, for little time is left to me, and my life runneth dry as water in an endless desert."
Delicately they lifted their king, and bore him to his friend. Then they placed him gently alongside the King of Men, who smiled with warmth. The Elf spoke first: "Hail Elendil, leader of the Faithul, King of the Western Realms, greatest of all Elf-friends! Here we are, friend of mine. Here we are at the threshold of yet another adventure, but I regret that now our paths shall be sundered at last." But Elendil saw the ruin of his allys body, and the bravery of his friend who suffered unbearable agonies so that they may have speech together, and tears gathered in his eyes.
"Do not pity me for my plight!" said the King of Elves "A thousand times over would I bear it, if by my suffering Middle-Earth be delivered. Thus am I comforted, for together we have given Her hope, and a future for Her Children; our sacrifice pails before such comparison. But behold! Day has come again: the Shadow has departed, light has returned, and we have the victory! Come - I offer thee my hand. Our bodies may fail and die, but our fellowship shall live for all eternity; a warning to our enemies, a lesson for our race, an example to the World."
Elendil clasped Gil-Galads hand in his, looking long at his ally of centuries, companion, saviour, councellor: the closest friend he had ever had. Tears ran free from his eyes, yet he smiled even as he spoke.
"Farewell Scion of Kings! All the Children of Middle-Earth bows to thee, and owe thee incalculable debt. How I wish to have thy strength beside me in my final journey! Alas, it is not to be, for our races are sundered by fate, and the stories of our long lives come at last to a parting. But wither my spirit goes, whatever mysteries lie beyond the veils of Death, I shall never forget thee! Hail Ereinion Gil-Galad, greatest and most valiant of Elves, Saviour of Middle-Earth!" and with that they released each other, so that with their last breath they may speak with their heirs.

Gil-Galad first turned to Cirdan, his voice low and wavering. "A fountain of wisdom thou hast been, a pillar of strength, eldest of our race, whose thought goes further and deeper than all in Middle-Earth. I beqeath unto thee Narya, the Ring of Fire. Use it to kindle warmth and valour in a world that grows chill. I have never thanked thee for my succour upon Balar, after my father fell in the Nirneath: may this gift redress the balance. Most fortunate amongst Elves I hold myself, to have had thee as a father; if not by blood, then surely by love."
Then Gil-Galad spoke to Elrond with great difficulty; his death approached. "Farewell Son of Earendil, mighty Herald of the Alliance! The Doom of the Noldor has at last found me, even though I bore none of the ancient guilt of our fathers. The comforts of family and the pride of heirs have I sacrificed, resting never until the Shadow was driven from our World. Many times did loneliness assail me, and I wept in solitude, wishing for the love of a wife and children. Needless now do I find my grief, for thou hast been as a son to me, and no father could ever have hoped for more. The Kingship of the Noldor I bequeath unto thee, for thou art my heir, and my pride."
But Elrond shook his head, and wept as he spoke: "None could fill thy place, my King. And there is now no realm left to rule, for we have been devoured by this war, and the Noldor are no more as a people in Middle-Earth. In Aman we survive, blessed and everlasting under Finarfin. Nay, thou art the last High King, the most honoured, the most humble, the least deserving of Namo's Curse. I shall hold thee as Lord even though thou art gone, and all shall bow before thy seat even though it be empty."
Gil-Galad smiled then. "Thy wisdom shall not be gainsaid, foster-son. But then promise me this: that thou shalt remain for a time in Middle-Earth, and build a house of knowledge, and of lore, so that those unborn may yet learn of our trial, and our sorrow, and our victories be remembered. This house will become a refuge for the weary, a welcome to all free peoples, and it shall protect Hope from the perils of the World. But beware the Doom of the Noldor - ever it seeks a victim, more often than not those we love, leaving us in grief and regret." and to this Elrond assented, for he would deny his King nothing in that hour.
"Farewell my foster father and son." whispered the son of Fingon, his voice barely audible. "I await thee beyond Oceans of Time, upon golden sands of peace." Gil-Galads eyes closed, and he was at rest.

Then Cirdan of the Havens cradled his foster sons head gently in his hands, and chanted a song of Cuivienen, and Elrond held the hand of his King. And it seemed to Gil-Galad that he walked by that ancient lake under the timeless stars, when Elves knew not the fear of darkness nor the perils of light, and all was new, and beautiful, and full of wonder.

But Gil-Galad dwells with his fathers in Fornost, and has to wife fair Altaris, daughter of Finrod and Amarie; often does he sit surrounded by his many children, holding them enraptured with tales of adventure, valiant allies, and distant lands. And sometimes he will sit in solitude by the statue of his friend, carved from the living stone of high Taniquetil by his own hands. Yet, as he sits there beside that mighty sculpture, reminiscing of those days of war and fellowship, one might expect to see him wrapped in melancholy moods, alone in grief. But it is not so. His face is filled with joy on those days, for he remembers with love his great ally, the Elf-Friend; and he smiles as he recalls the greatest friendship there had ever been between Man and Elf - that of Elendil the Tall, High King of the Dunedain, and Ereinion Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor.

[L—miothiel]

Beautiful... just beautiful. Not only have you left me speechless again, but in tears . A perfect ending!

[Moru]

Cirdan and Elrond were silent in their grief, their heads bowed. To the amazement of all, Durin, Lord of Khazad-Dum knelt upon one knee, and lo! tears fell from his eyes, and his voice shook as he spoke:
"Such as these two shall never grace this Middle-Earth again, and we are forever diminished by their passing. Wounded is my heart, that they should have this greatest of honours whilst we linger on, sorrowful in a World robbed of starlight! Ai-en Khazad a Zilgathar bundush, osch vizilgalthol khanrai! We of the Dwarves bow before thy valour, and bear thy memory in imperishable stone!"
The King of Dwarrowdelf tore a rent in his flowing beard, and pounded the earth with his great axe; and his grim household sang dour lament for the fallen Elven King and the dying King of Men. Elrond stooped to lift the body of Gil-Galad, but even as he lifted it turned all to ash, falling through his fingers as fine dust; a soft wind from the West caught it, and drew his remains high into the airs, drifting as a grey cloud. So passed Gil-Galad, of all the Princes of the Noldor in Exile, not the least valiant. Then all departed Haudh-en-Ambar, and the Dunedain King and his Heir were left alone.

Elendil looked upon his son, and smiled, the Sun glowing upon his face. The prince took the hand of his father, which was like ice; Isildurs face was wrung with anxiety, for he now knew there was little time left. In panic his eyes sped about the crushed body before him, seeking some way that he might save his father. But he knew there to be no hope: not even the skill of Elrond, peerless in healing upon Middle-Earth, might avail. The injury was too dire. Despair took him, and he wept in frustration. But Elendil spoke to his son, a comforting hand laid gently upon his head; with great effort he kept his voice steady and clear:

"Do not fear, Kings son. Do not fear. Great span of life has been given unto me; a road well travelled, full of wonder, love and mighty deeds. May none venture I wasted this time! Now the Kingship comes to thee, and thou must continue my journey undaunted."
But Isildur shook his head, for grief clouded his reason, undermining his pride.
"Nay. Nay... I deserve not this honour. Anarion should have been the successor, not I. Were he living still, I would not contest it. His was the greater valour, the stronger mettle, and the people loved him the more - and rightly so." and he buried his face in his hands. But Elendil took his sons head, looking with keen sight into the eyes of his firstborn.
"This darkness has long lain in thy mind, Isildur. Shamed am I to have only read the truth of it now, when no time remains for us. Forgive me, my son, for mighty cares were thrust upon me in my life, and there was little time for others - even my children. But thy father and King bids thee to rid thyself of these webs of sorrow: be free of the shadow! Anarion I named after the Sun, for he was golden, and his laughter was as warm as that lamp of the sky. But thou were named before the Moon, whose light is cool and keen, whose ways are varied and cannot be read. Thus art thou the true slayer of Sauron, beyond all foretelling, and not myself, nor King Gil-Galad.
Thou and thy brother are equally dear to my heart, and are equal as men if different in character; as are the twin lights of heaven. And if others perchance favour the golden light over the silver, pay no heed to it, for this is what men do in times of great darkness. Even thyself."
And Isildur understood himself at last, and the darkness that had shadowed his soul since childhood was lifted. He embraced his father, and the father held his son, healed of his long-borne woe.

But now Elendil's breathing became greatly laboured: his grip softened, and his face grew pale. With difficulty he spoke, his voice on the threshold of hearing:
"Thou must be strong for Middle-Earth after such trial, Isildur. Already I can feel her healing. Bear thy rule well and just, and trust to thine own wisdom; my pride goes with thee on thy journey. But now the end comes. Fear not, my son... fear not. It is but a gift that I give back, and death only a veil athwart another road, another voyage; and I am eager to test uncharted waters."
Such wonderment was written in the face of his father that Isildur would never again fear the shadow of death, and for him grief was a mingling of sorrow and gladness.
"Go then." Isildur said, smiling as he wept. "Farewell, and tarry not. But know this: though all Middle-Earth holds thee in praise, their everlasting devotion shall never surmount my love for thee. My Healer. My King. My Father."
"I know it. Only my love for thee could match it. I go now to seek Ennoriel and Anarion, thy mother and brother. Farewell, my son! Hail Isildur, Heir of Elendil, High King of the Dunedain!" and then the great King was silent, and his grey eyes saw no more.
"Atto! Attarinya!" cried Isildur in grief, but also in joy.

And it seemed to Elendil that Isildurs cries were lost in a rushing wind as the World receded, and he saw through images of thought fair scenes from his long life, passing by in clear review. His youth and his father, Lord Amandil, his first love with Miriel, friendship and rivalry with Pharazon, the first meeting with his wife, Ennoriel; the births of his children in his fair house in Andunie, moments of tranquil peace as they ate together in some sunlit grove of their garden, surrounded by the fragrent lavaralda... It was as though he were waking from the close warmth of a dream; long in sleep, slow to rising.
But as his thought arose he was aware of the visitor, that strange presence he had sometimes felt in his youth, and once just after Isildurs birth. This stranger was a scholar, wise in the study of tongues, an emissary to the Days of Old from some future epoch, immeasurably distant. Alboin was his name, the father of Audoin, skilled in painting. They were linked across the gulfs of time and space, the King and the Scholar, connected through the tenuous medium of dreams and visions. Putting forth his will he found that he could peer into Alboins world, and for a brief instant Elendil saw there great gleaming cities, realms of peace and plenty, green and verdant lands, soaring towers of glass and steel, strange craft that sailed the skies, and much else besides; a World free of the Shadow, where the race of Men was at peace, finding peril only in themselves. Thus were the sacrifices of the Alliance not in vain, for the future, distant as it was, was saved.
And it seemed to Elendil then how futile grief was, how insignificant death became, but so very necessary in Erus design: that Mankind may leave the World, and return at different points in the Great Music adding new movements of their own devising, free from the chains and trammels of Time. Thus are all the races of Mankind truly linked in brotherhood, and are as one family, vast beyond measure and endlessly inventive, writing their own future free of Fate. Such joy was in his heart that Elendil laughed aloud in his thought, filled with hope; he yearned to return, to reassure his son who wept beside his earthly body - but that was part of another story, another time, and there were new things to do.

~ *** ~

Isildur closed the eyes of his father. He then chanted a song of Andunie composed in the days of his youth, when his mother, brother and father dwelt upon fair Numenor in days of happiness; and his tears could not be stilled. The body of the King was placed upon a high bier, and borne from Haudh-en-Ambar alongside that of Anarion, and preparations were being made for the journeys home. All were bent with the weariness of toil and grief, and none came through that war unchanged. The streets of Minas Ithil, Minas Anor, Osgiliath and Elostirion would be free of crowds for many years, perhaps forever; the halls of Khazad-Dum would be lessened in labour and skill, and there would be diminished song beneath the eaves of Greenwood and Lorien. The wounds of Middle-Earth and her people could never fully repair, nor be made as though it had never been, but a chance had been won from the Shadow; a chance for healing, whence new hope may be born. With the passing of King Gil-Galad of the Noldor and King Elendil of the Dunedain an end had come of the Last Alliance, that mighty bulwark of heroes that thrust Darkness from our World. Such a leaguer could never again be drawn from the Children of Arda, and the Alliance of Old was indeed the last. Yet their deeds are still remembered, and the future they fought for was not in vain. The proof lives within ourselves.

The End

[Linnelleth]

Moru, that was absolutely amazing. I think you would have made the professor himself proud. Very well done!

[Moru]

Thank you Linn (and everyone else who has read and commented): the Commentary for this tale has now started.

[Arryle]

Simply amazing, Moru! I will reserve further comment for your commentary thread...