Chapter 70

The bloody victory on the Dagorlad Fields was merely the ticket to the final battle. Weary and wounded, yet burning with rage for revenge for Oropher, Amdil, and countless fallen warriors, the armies of the Last Alliance passed through Mordor's great Black Gate, a symbol of despair. What unfolded before them was a hellish landscape far more desolate and sinister than they had imagined: charred earth devoid of vegetation, the air thick with acrid sulfur and ash, twisted rocks like demonic fangs, and a sky perpetually shrouded in thick smoke swirling with crimson flames. And at its center, a towering tower of pure darkness, crowned by a burning evil eye, Barad-dur, like a vast, beating heart of darkness, nestled in the shadow of Mount Doom.

Like a torrent of light, the Alliance's armies surged into this cursed land, swiftly wiping out the remaining scattered resistance on the outskirts and ultimately encircling the evil fortress. Banners rose once more across the scorched earth, and the encampment spread like a steel forest. Elendil and Gil-galad stood on a makeshift command platform, gazing at the massive tower that seemed to devour all light, their eyes grim. They knew the true test had just begun.

Barad-dur's defenses were far stronger than the Alliance had anticipated. It seemed built not of stone but of Sauron's own dark will. Its towers were immense, constructed of iron and incredibly hard stone. Ordinary battering rams and catapults left only faint white marks. Its massive gates, studded with black iron spikes, rose like a mountain wall. Its sides were riddled with embrasures and spouts for boiling oil and molten lava. Its foundations were sunk deep into the solid rock and crevices of the lava-filled mountains, making tunnels impossible to dig.

Alatar and Palandur, two corrupted blue wizards, became the core of Sauron's defenses. Together, they constructed a powerful shield of dark magic that enveloped the entire tower, severely weakening the effectiveness of elven magic and long-range siege engines. They also continuously unleashed foul curses, poisonous mists, and mental shocks, undermining the morale and health of the besieging forces.

The most despairing thing was that Sauron seemed to possess an endless supply of troops. The tower seemed connected to the abyss, with new orcs, trolls, and corrupted humans constantly pouring out. They were not elite, but their strength lay in their sheer numbers. Like a tidal wave, they constantly assaulted the Alliance's encirclement, draining the defenders' strength and supplies.

Orodruin became Sauron's natural arsenal and forge. Passages within the tower seemed to lead directly into the depths of the volcano, channeling a constant flow of molten lava, which poured down from the tower's summit as a deadly rain of fire or into pre-designed trenches, forming a flaming moat. The volcanic heat also provided energy for the tower, perhaps even using some dark synthesis to produce food, maintaining the defenders' minimal supplies.

The siege became a long and painful war of attrition. The Alliance's situation became increasingly difficult. Mordor's harsh environment made it difficult to resupply locally. The Alliance's supplies had to be brought in from distant lands like Lindon, Gondor, and even further north to Arnor, across war-torn lands and routes harassed by Sauron's remnants. Supply convoys were frequently ambushed, resulting in heavy losses.

The sulfurous air corroded armor and weapons, the poisonous dust polluted the water source, the scorching ground and harsh climate continued to consume the soldiers' physical strength, and disease began to spread in the camp.

Sauron was no passive defender. He constantly dispatched elite raiding parties, leveraging their familiarity with the terrain and the complex underground passages of Mordor. They launched raids at night or in inclement weather, burning supplies, assassinating officers, and creating panic. The flaming arrows and burning boulders raining down from the towers were impossible to defend against, and each attack resulted in casualties.

Isildur knew Sauron's cunning and would not sit idly by. He feared Sauron might escape Mordor through a hidden pass and return. To ensure a safe retreat, he resolutely sent his two young sons back to Gondor, commanding them to lead a crack force to guard Minas Ithil, the most important fortress in Gondor's east, and to defend the direction of Cirith Ungol. His eldest son, Elendur, steadfastly remained by his father's side, accompanying him through the long seven years of the siege, becoming his father's vital arm and spiritual support.

Meereen undertook equally arduous, if even more exhausting, tasks—he became the heart of the headquarters' medical wing. A large, relatively clean tent became his "battlefield." For seven years, he labored almost without pause. His hands were stained with blood—not of his enemies, but of his comrades. He used the exquisite healing skills he learned in Valinor and his own inherent life force to treat the endless stream of wounded: those burned by lava, wounded by poisoned arrows, severely wounded by trolls, and eroded by dark magic... Time and again, he pulled dying warriors back from the brink of death, easing their suffering. His face, after seven years of toil and witnessing countless suffering, was stained with deep fatigue, but his eyes remained clear, like a glimmer of light in the darkness, offering the wounded a final hope.

Seven years had forged the once somewhat erratic prince into the icy King of the Greenwood. He inherited his father's valor, but discarded his impulsiveness. His Silvan Elves, hardened and cautious after the tragic loss of Dagorlad, excelled in skirmishes and ambushes in the harsh wilderness of Mordor, becoming a formidable counter to Sauron's raiding armies. Thranduil himself rarely appeared in the heart of the camp, a wandering vengeful shadow leading his band of "ghosts" through the scorched rocks and shadows of Mordor, hunting any minions of darkness who dared to leave the protection of Barad-dur. His golden hair still shone, but his eyes were as cold as a thousand years of ice, only to erupt with molten hatred when he personally slew his enemies.

The two supreme leaders stood as pillars of support. Gil-galad's Spear of Aegros hung ever high above the command camp, its radiant light a crucial barrier against the Ringwraiths' aura of fear and dark magic. Elendil's Sword of Narsil symbolized humanity's hope and resilience. They constantly adjusted siege strategies, commanded assault after assault, organized defenses against Sauron's counterattacks, appeased the tribes, and ensured the smooth flow of supply lines. Seven years of hardship had left deeper scars on their brows, but their backbones remained unshaken.

Sauron sat in the tower, like a giant spider at the center of a web. He possessed a near-endless patience, using his impenetrable fortress and a steady supply of minions to hold the Alliance firmly within the mire of Mordor for seven years. He watched the Alliance gradually wear down under the strain, and watched the subtle cracks between Elves and Men formed under the pressure, enjoying the pleasure of this slow torture.

By the year 3441 of the Second Age, Sauron's patience had finally reached its limit. Even the Dark Lord could not endure the humiliation of a prolonged siege and the suppression of his power for seven years. More importantly, he sensed the growing fatigue and despair within the Alliance and keenly perceived subtle flaws in strategic adjustments—such as Isildur's dispatch of his two sons to guard Minas Ithil, which had led to a diversion of forces in Gondor.

"The time has come." The evil eye atop the tower erupted with an unprecedented crimson light, filled with tyranny and a lust for destruction. Sauron began planning an unprecedented counterattack, one that would break the stalemate. He was no longer content with small-scale harassment and attrition; he aimed for a decisive victory, a decisive defeat, to completely crush the besieging army and bury Elendil, Gil-galad, and all hope of light in the ashes of Mordor.