Chapter 62
The war between Númenor and Sauron ended in a surprising way: Sauron, Lord of Mordor, took off his crown and surrendered without any real resistance. He was chained and taken back to Númenor as a "captive," becoming a trophy for Ar-Pharazon to show off his military exploits.
When this news reached the Elves of Middle-earth, they were not relieved, but rather filled with doubt. Gil-galad of Lindon, Elrond of Rivendell, and even Galadriel in faraway Lothlórien, all sent messengers with the same question: Sauron's surrender seemed too abrupt, too calculated. Furthermore, Mordor, a land steeped in darkness for centuries, showed no signs of unrest after its lord's capture.
"Mordor remains the same," Glorfindel said, standing on the walls of Forlindon, gazing at the southern sky, which was permanently shrouded in dark clouds, his brow furrowed. "The orc patrols appear as usual, and the dark clouds in the sky are so heavy that not a single ray of sunlight can penetrate... Everything is functioning as usual, as if Sauron had never left. This is simply not the state of a kingdom without its master."
"He must have left behind powerful servants to wield power on his behalf," Celebrimbor said gravely. He had just returned from a workshop teaching greenwood craftsmen. His expression was less gloomy and more focused. "A core capable of perfectly executing his will and maintaining the functioning of the entire Dark Kingdom."
To uncover the truth, Gandalf volunteered to journey once more into Mordor. With incredible wit and skill in disguise, the Grey Wizard disguised himself as a wandering sorcerer from the East seeking power and protection. With his eloquence and masterful knowledge of dark lore, he infiltrated a tribe of corrupted humans operating on the outskirts of Mordor.
Gandalf cleverly flattered the tribal leader, boasting about Sauron's greatness. He feigned curiosity and inquired, "The great master Sauron now exercises supreme power in Númenor in the west. I wonder which wise lord rules over the ancient land of Mordor? He must be a remarkable figure to manage this iron fortress so well."
The leader was already a bit tipsy, but at Gandalf's question, a deep awe and fear flashed across his eyes, and the drunkenness seemed to have mostly faded. He waved his hands and lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard by invisible ears. "Hush! Talk nonsense! The 'two lords' preside over all. Their will is the will of Lord Sauron, and their majesty is unfathomable." He glanced around nervously, refusing to say another word, only repeatedly emphasizing the unquestionable authority of the 'two lords'.
Gandalf was deeply shocked. He had never heard of anyone among Sauron's inner circle of servants who could claim to be his equal, calling him "My Lord." He continued to pry in indirect ways, trying to elicit more information, but everyone remained shrouded in secrecy regarding the "two Lords." They only revealed that Mordor's defenses, resource allocation, and military training were impeccably coordinated. Under their supervision, they seemed even more efficient and ruthless than under Sauron's reign. All of Mordor was a massive war machine, tightly driven by the will of darkness. Even without its master at the core, it continued to operate frantically according to its established program.
Gandalf realized that it would be difficult to obtain more valuable intelligence and that the risk of staying longer would increase dramatically, so he found an excuse and quietly escaped from the hopeless place shrouded by the Iron Curtain.
He immediately found the white-robed wizard Saruman, who was responsible for monitoring the movements of Mordor, and reported his findings.
"My lords..." Saruman knitted his long, snow-white brows together after listening to Gandalf's narration, his deep eyes filled with doubt and uneasiness. "This is far from ordinary. How could these 'my lords' possess such authority, command such awe from those fallen humans, and rule Mordor like an iron barrel?" He paced, his fingers unconsciously twirling his beard. "No wonder Sauron surrendered so readily to the armies of Númenor. He didn't care about his temporary physical captivity at all, for he had already arranged a backup plan in Mordor, a plan that might even be more efficient and covert than one he could operate in person."
Saruman stopped abruptly, his face turning grim. "What's even more troubling is, Gandalf! The One Ring! Did Sauron take it to Númenor when he was captured? If he did, then the source of his power to wreak havoc in Númenor right now is that ring. If he didn't..." He looked toward Mordor, his eyes as hard as steel. "The One Ring that controls all the Rings and contains most of his power is very likely in Mordor, in the hands of the mysterious 'two lords.' Either scenario presents a huge danger."
Gandalf nodded gravely. "That is precisely what I fear. In Númenor, Sauron exploits the ambitions and fears of Ar-Pharazón, dragging that great kingdom ever closer to the abyss. And in his absence, the dark fortress of Mordor grows stronger and more dangerous. We must learn who these 'two lords' are and where the One Ring lies."
"A pity," Saruman sighed with a hint of resignation. "Right now, in Meereen and Elrond in Númenor, they are caught in the center of the vortex. Their efforts to divert and protect those loyal to the Valar have already consumed a great deal of their energy. Now, under Sauron's nose, they are struggling to survive the mad persecution of Ar-Pharazon. I'm afraid they can hardly divert their attention to tracking down the exact whereabouts of the One Ring."
Just as Saruman and Gandalf were worried about the Iron Curtain of Mordor and the whereabouts of the One Ring, a ray of new hope was stubbornly breaking through the haze on the land of Middle-earth.
With Sauron's departure from Middle-earth, the dark shackles that bound the vast lands he had previously seized and enslaved with the power of the One Ring—including the fertile regions of Anduin, Ithilien, and Calenardhon—suddenly loosened. The oppressed Men of Middle-earth, groaning under the iron hoof of Sauron's minions, and the Faithful, who had fled Númenor and had just gained a foothold there with the help of the Elves, finally had their moment to strike back.
With the tacit support of Elrond and Círdan, who had briefly returned to Middle-earth to coordinate, the war erupted under the combined command of the leaders of the Faithful and the chieftains of the Human tribes of Middle-earth. Without the direct will of Sauron and the power of the One Ring, the armies of the Orcs and corrupted Men entrenched in these lands were disorganized and vulnerable. Like a raging fire, the armies, led by guides familiar with the terrain and supported by Elven archers and a small number of Noldor cavalry, drove the minions of darkness from their towns, fortresses, and fertile valleys one by one.
As the smoke of war cleared, the devastated land welcomed the long-awaited sunlight. The liberated people began clearing the ruins and rebuilding their homes. They cultivated barren fields, dredged silted rivers, and, under the guidance of elven craftsmen, constructed simple yet practical houses and fortifications of sturdy stone and wood. After their shared struggle against darkness, people of different bloodlines—the exiles of Númenor and the natives of Middle-earth—began to try to integrate, jointly establishing simple laws and electing wise leaders.
Near the mouth of the Anduin River, in a high, easily defended hilly area, the largest settlement began to take shape. They constructed a meeting hall and watchtowers of pure white stone, and the harbor was under repair. Further north, at the western foot of the Misty Mountains, another group of exiles, primarily farmers and hunters, established a settlement called "Arnor's Reach" at the junction of the vast forest and grassland. This settlement, meaning "King's Land," held a distant hope for restoring the glory of Númenor.
Elrond stood on the newly constructed watchtower, surveying the bustling and vibrant scene below. Elves guided the humans in their construction, human women sowed the cultivated land, and children ran and played in the cleared streets. The air was no longer filled with the stench of blood and burnt trees, but with the sweet fragrance of earth and the scent of new wood.
He sighed softly, a sigh filled with both relief and deep emotion. Now, in this land once ravaged by darkness, these people, having lost their homeland and their sacred tree, are using their diligent hands and unwavering will to rebuild the rudiments of their homeland, piece by piece, from the ruins. This success is no longer dependent on divine gifts or a long lifespan, but on their own courage, unity, and faith in light.
"Hope always springs from the deepest despair," Elrond whispered to Círdan beside him. "They lost their old paradise, but they sowed the seeds of new life in the land of Middle-earth. Perhaps this is the true power of mankind—to rebuild from ruins, to find light in darkness." He looked at the figures working in the sun, and the cold pain in his eyes, caused by the fall of Númenor, was finally replaced by a glimmer of warm hope. He knew that the road ahead was still long, the shadow of Mordor had not dissipated, and the threat of Sauron still hung overhead. But at this moment, this glimmer of new light was enough to dispel some of the gloom in his heart.
And in distant Mordor, atop the highest tower of darkness, two pairs of cold, emotionless eyes pierced through layers of dark clouds, indifferently gazing at the newly born sparks of light on the land of Middle-earth. In one of these eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of struggle and pain seemed to flash, but it was instantly overshadowed by a deeper, purer dark will.
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