PartV Chapter 3
The Light, Quest Day12

At the fall of Night

 

 

With pieces of The Board finally set

Two stood by their cause, the other to meet 

Éowyn and her dead Queen, to face Dark’s threat

Sauron and his Master, Light to defeat

In new lore’s time, on his tower’s great dome

He stood with his Captain, troops far below

King and Wizard not there, she stood alone

Against all Dark’s evil with future’s bow

With red of his hate, and white of her hope

The might of her will to destroy Dark’s scope.

 

 

Éowyn was waiting.  She stood on his Fortress’s dome alone. 

 

The night was still and solemn, as if it was holding its breath in anticipation of the enormity of the event to occur. The stench of hate steeped with trepidation rose from the hushed hoards standing in formation below; filling the air with the heinousness of their being. 

 

Above her, the falling night was infused with a dreading greyness; colossal billowing clouds heaved and reached down to her, almost enveloping her.  She was in his world, these were his ways and creations, yet she was not daunted for she held a power he would/could not comprehend.

 

As he walked on to the tower, he saw her, more glorious and stunning than before, his hate swelled that in this state, in his world, she could be so composed and radiant.  He could not take his eyes off her as the night, his night, engulfed her, yet her aura shone with a brilliance he could not conceive; then he realised that she wore the white Silmaril.  From her burst a shimmering silvered light, it flared up to the heavens and then off far into the horizon.

 

For a moment he was mesmerized by the vision of her.  She wore a voluptuous gown of brilliant blue, and upon her head she wore the glimmering golden shawl of Númenor.  It draped across her shoulders and fell to the ground, just as Hadiya had worn it those centuries before.

 

The troops looked up to her in awe and gasped, her apparition appeared as a goddess to them.  But she was no goddess to him, merely of weak mortal flesh he was about to destroy; her light would not command him.  He opened the capsule that contained the red Silmaril and in his outstretched hand, its dark crimson shafts ruptured into the night, surging across the tower like fingers of a ferocious fire, and striking her light, shattering its serenity.  The air became filled with dense red fumes, and momentarily, she was wavering in the toxic pall.

 

She called out to him:

‘Lord of Darkness is this best you can command!’

 These were not words of fear but a confident rebuff; he seethed with her defiance to be subjugated to his mastery.

 

The whole dome of the tower was now enshrouded by the red light of his Silmaril, save where she stood; her Silmaril recovered the brilliance of its silver rays, and encapsulated her in its radiance.

 

He gloated for he knew, which she did not, that the red light formed an impenetrable barrier that no being could penetrate; if they had hoped to come to her aid, they would be repulsed, she was now alone, totally alone, at his mercy.

 

His titanic form strode slowly, ominously, to where she stood; towering over her, willing her to fear and doubt. 

 

The troops roared out his name, bellowing out their battle cry, raising their spears and swords into the air, pounding the ground with their feet.

Matum ob Laal!  Uur Burz Goth!    

 

The sound of their howl resonated around the dome, forming an erupting shockwave, causing the red light to throb fiercely.  The earth trembled under their feet, and she could feel it quiver even where she stood.  But she stood firm.

 

The Dark Lord acknowledged their tribute, answering in booming roar that filled the sky:

 ‘Za aarsh izgu throqu- -uuk slaium -ob kaal!’    

The troops fell into a restless silence, anticipating his wrath.

 

The Dark Lord moved towards to her.  She stepped back from him, confidently but to keep him away from her.  She stepped close to the edge of the tower.  He thought she stepped back in fear and felt confident that she had become his prey.  The troops gasped at her move.  She said nothing - she waited for him to speak.

 ‘Lady of Rohan, I see you come as Queen Hadiya, to stand before me and my Captain, as you once did,’ he uttered in a scoffing and bitter tone.  

 

The troops could not hear the exchange, but they felt the assault of his approach. 

 

He continued, not waiting for a response for her:

 ‘I see you come without weapon or the protection of your Wizard or King.  Do you think that this gives you any quarter with me, and that a change will occur to that which the past has determined must be,’ he hissed in disdain, leaning further towards her.

 

 ‘I come with justice and righteousness on my side.  I “fear no darkness”’ (Tolkien, ROTK, ‘The Ride of the Rohirrim’), she pronounced defiantly countering his threatening stance.

 

He roared with a laugh of enraged scorn.  Even the Captain and troops felt the shiver of dread pass through them, but she stood her ground, perilously close to the edge of the tower.

 

 ‘Words will not protect you, or the weapon of The Light from the future.  For as you see The Dark is shielded by the power of the red Silmaril and the Rings,’ he snarled.

 

 ‘I need not an external weapon to bring the end to you and your evil,’ she replied unflinchingly.

 

 ‘Then do your worst, brave maiden.  As I one time said, it is regretful that your end should be so pitiful,’ he retorted with spittle of malice.

 

Éowyn turned to the Captain:

 ‘Morisoron, would you again see a defenseless maiden slain without raising your hand.  Hadiya calls you to denounce him now as you once did,’ she pleaded in gentle tones.

 

Sauron did not wait for the Captain to respond:

‘You have gravely miscalculated if you seek support from Morisoron, for he no longer exists. The Captain bears you no compassion, for on my instructions he would slay you himself.’

 

The Captain raised his sword, ready to strike her.

 

The Dark Lord leaned forward, glaring at her through his red light and saying sneeringly:

 ‘You see how futile your plea has been.  How is your righteousness to save you from his blow?’

 

‘Denounce him as you once did,’ Éowyn cried out in Hadiya’s voice.

 

The Captain stood wielding the mighty sword Anguirel, but before he could plunge it, out from the night across the sky came an image, an image of that moment a millennium before, as Morisoron threw the ring upon the floor, shrieking:

 ‘I woneanyo cea unw ceak kinv!’   ‘I woneanyo cea unw ceak kinv!’    

His words echoed over land and sky.  It choked the fearful air and bodies; everyone was stung by his denunciation.  And as the Captain looked at his Master, he looked at his hand and the ring was pulled by her light and rings, and fell from his finger.  He dropped his sword, as he reached out to pick up the ring; but as the words continued to echo, it rolled from his reach, and as though being propelled towards her, it toppled over the edge of the tower. 

As the words continued to blare, a thundering gale and miasma surged from the sky, churning the red and white lights emanating from the Dark Lord and from Éowyn.  The Captain bellowed for the words to stop, he saw his Lord was snaring at him with contempt. The wind grew fiercer, virtually knocking over the Captain and his Lord. Then the words suddenly stopped. 

As the Dark Lord glared, realising that the command of the rings had swung to that of The Light, the Captain’s form began to disintegrate and the wind swirled about his empty shell and lifted it from the dome and across the sky, whirling ever faster.  The sound of the wind was ear-piercing; then there was nothing, a deafening silence. 

The troops stood thunderstruck, waiting for the Dark Lord’s response.

 

Sauron seething with anger, his red aura darkening in menace and hate:

‘You think that this trickery will save you,’ he hissed in rage, and he drew his sword. ‘You once felt my hate, you have willed this again as your fate,’ he would strike her through as he had once done. 

 

He stepped forwards to face her directly, and consumed with hate and vengeance, he put his immense strength behind the thrust of his sword.  She stepped to the very edge of the tower.  As his sword reached her petite frame, he felt her body dissolve, she disappeared as if only an image, and his thrust continued with such momentum, that he toppled, toppled right-over the edge of the tower.   As he fell, his red light burst into flames, erupting into a massive ball of fire as it descended, continuously expanding in size, such that when it neared the ground it flowed like the lava from the bowels of Mt Doom.  It exploded on contact with the ground and sprayed out in every direction, consuming the hordes who stood there.  And when the black haze of the death of the fire subsided, he was no more.  The wind of finality whirled viciously, for, with a darkheart, he had destroyed himself, and he would now never return.

 

With white of her hope and red of his hate

The triumph of her will, had sealed his fate.

 Ilúvatar looked down upon his Middle-earth

Pleased for the prospect now of its re-birth.

Still he saw one terror was to be faced

So held time’s reversal til this erased.