Chapter 69
The vast plain of Dagorlad, cast in the vast shadow of Mordor's Black Gate, stretched like a cursed black velvet before the gates of Doom. The air hung heavy with the stench of sulfur, rust, and impending blood, a stifling weight. The armies of the Last Alliance, a silver and white torrent drawing together all the light of Middle-earth, lined the western plains. Across from them lay the unleashed tide of darkness, boundless and unwavering, emanating a breath of pure malice and destruction.
The silver armor of the elves gleamed a chilling light beneath the gloomy sky. The star-studded banners of the Noldor, the leafy banners of the Sindar, the golden tree banner of Lórien, the white tree banner of Gondor, the seven-star banner of Arnor, and the Dwarven hammer banner of Khazad-dûm intertwined in the whistling wind, forming a fortress of hope. Human warriors grasped spears and swords, while the great axes and hammers of the Dwarfs gleamed coldly. Elendil and Gil-galad stood side by side on the central heights, the sword of Narsil and the spear of Aegloth radiating a reassuring majesty. Meereen and Glorfindel stood on either side, while Maglor stood in Fëanorion's phalanx, his gaze sharp as an eagle.
Sauron's deployments were as cunning and brutal as he himself. At the forefront lay the dense, black ant-like Orc host. Their equipment was ill-equipped, yet their numbers were formidable. Their deafening roars and foul curses were their mission, to sap the Alliance's arrows and stamina, clogging the roads with corpses and creating chaos. Following closely behind were the relatively elite Orc warbands and human vassal armies from Rhun in the east and Harad in the south. The Rhunites were primarily fierce cavalry and heavy infantry, while the Haradrim excelled in the use of scimitars and poisoned arrows. They formed the backbone of the dark army. On the flanks were deployed the ferocious trolls and Sauron's most terrifying servants, the Nazgûl. The Ringwraiths, mounted on terrifying flying beasts, circled low overhead, emitting a desperate aura of terror, ready to tear through the Alliance's flanks or command structure.
Behind the center stood the elite phalanx of the Black Númenóreans, led by Herumer and Fuinur themselves. Equipped with fine Númenórean armor and weapons, their tactical prowess far surpassed that of the other vassal armies. They were Sauron's sharpest and most loyal blade, specifically designed to counter Elendil's Gondorian forces. A few fallen Dwarves, still in Sauron's service, operated the cumbersome yet powerful siege engines and disrupted the alliance's formations. High above the Black Gate of Mordor, two figures loomed, shrouded in gray-black shadows: the fallen blue wizards Alatar and Palandur. Like beacons in the darkness, they sustained the vassal army's morale and stood ready to unleash devastating magic.
There was no declaration of war, no challenge. The black Orc tsunami instantly launched, like a flood bursting through a dam, howling and rushing towards the Alliance's defenses.
"Hold on!" Gil-galad's voice resounded like thunder across the battlefield. "Archers! Fire!"
A silver wave of elven archers untied their bowstrings in unison, and a hail of arrows, with a shrill thud, blackened the sky and sun, piercing the air with pinpoint accuracy as they descended upon the charging Orcs. The Orcs in the front row fell like harvested wheat, leaving a bloody vacuum at the head of the black wave. But the Orcs behind, stepping over the corpses of their comrades, surged forward with even greater frenzy.
Human spearmen and dwarven axe-shield warriors led the front lines, their spears piercing like a forest, pinning the charging Orcs to their knees. The Dwarven warriors, like a moving fortress, constructed an iron line of defense with heavy shields and axes. Every swing of their axes ripped apart a cascade of broken limbs. The clash of metal, roars, and screams mingled like a hellish symphony.
Just as the Alliance's defenses, like a rock, withstood the Orcs' first wave of attack and began to push back steadily, Sauron's cunning was revealed.
The Silvan Elves of the Left Woodland Kingdom formed a phalanx. King Oropher, the lion of the Sindar, witnessed the Orcs decimated by Elven arrows in front of him, and the valiant fighting of the Men and Dwarves in the center. A fiery will to avenge his people and prove the Sindar's valor overwhelmed his caution. Unable to fully suppress his Sindarin pride and deep hatred for darkness, his blood boiled before Gil-galad even gave the order for a full-scale attack.
"For the Green Forest, for our fallen compatriots." King Oropher raised his sword high and roared, "Charge with me! Crush these filth!" He led the most elite and brave guards under his command, like a green sword, and broke away from the solid line of the alliance and plunged into the depths of the Oak Sea, which seemed to be weakened by the rain of arrows.
"Father! No! Wait for orders!" Prince Thranduil was horrified in the back and tried to stop it, but it was too late.
Oropher's charge was initially unstoppable, his axe unstoppable, the Orcs helpless before him. However, this was Sauron's trap, and the Orcish rout was a deception. As the vanguard of the Green Elves penetrated the enemy lines, a sudden surge of well-armed and prepared Men of Haradrim and ferocious Trolls suddenly appeared on both sides, instantly encircling and cutting off Oropher from the main force. A piercing scream echoed from the sky, and the fallen beasts mounted by the Ringwraiths swooped down.
King Oropher fought bloody battles, his guards falling one by one. He was like a lion trapped in a swamp, unable to break free from the carefully prepared death cage even with the courage of ten thousand men. Finally, under siege by several trolls and a surprise attack by a Ringwraith, the Lion of Sindar, King of Greenwood, fell a heroic death. The place where he fell was covered with the corpses of countless Orcs and Haradrim.
Thranduil's eyes were bloodshot, his golden hair flying in fury. He had witnessed his father's fall, and his immense grief instantly transformed into a cold murderous intent. "Outwoods," he took command, his voice like ice cracking stone. "Follow me and avenge our king." He led the remaining outwood warriors in a desperate, desperate charge towards his father's fallen body, attempting to recover it. However, they were drawn into a deeper struggle and suffered heavy losses.
On the right flank, Prince Amdil of Lórien also met his doom. His Silver Bows and Elven warriors were locked in a fierce battle with the Rhún cavalry and another force of trolls. Sauron's commander, skillfully feigning a small force's defeat, lured the Elves of Lórien toward a dangerous, mist-shrouded area on the southern edge of the Dagorlad Plain, filled with dark swamps and poisonous gases. By the time Amdil realized the danger, their connection with the main center had been severed by a massive enemy force. The swamps choked the Elves' mobility, and they were constantly harassed by the enemy's familiarity with the terrain and the lurking giant insects and venomous snakes. Prince Amdil, leading his troops, attempted a breakout, but unfortunately became mired in the mire and was slain by the swarming enemy arrows. Half of his Elves perished in the deadly marshes.
The heavy losses and critical situation on both wings were reported back to the central heights. Elendil and Gil-galad were heartbroken, but as supreme commanders, they knew they could not afford to lose their composure at this moment. Sauron's main force—the Black Númenóreans and their Haradri allies, commanded by Hrumer and Fuinur—slammed like a black anvil against the defenses of Gondor and Arnor. These fallen were well-versed in Númenórean tactics, well-equipped, and fiercely determined.
"Aegros is here!" Gil-galad roared, raising his spear high. A brilliant light instantly dispelled the fear bred by the nearby Ringwraiths. He personally led the most elite Noldor Knights in a countercharge. Aegros was unstoppable, and the radiance from his spear struck fear into the hearts of even the Black Númenóreans, with Glorfindel following close behind.
"In the name of Narsil, for Númenor." Elendil erupted in a deafening war cry. Narsil seemed to come alive in his hands, his blade radiating pure starlight, carrying the power to purify darkness. He led the heavy infantry of Gondor and Arnor, like a moving wall of steel, crashing fiercely into the phalanx of the Black Númenor. Meereen roamed among the human ranks. While his power wasn't primarily for killing, each precise block and inspiration imbued with life force could save a warrior's life in a crucial moment and stabilize the position.
The Fëan warriors, led by Maglor, were like the flames of revenge. They sang ancient and tragic war songs and fought with amazing strength, holding off the enemy forces that tried to outflank the center and flanks. The Dwarf warriors of Khazad-dûm, with their impenetrable lines and heavy hammers, crushed the trolls' charge.
The Alliance's core strength and the might of their leader became the anchor of the battlefield. Gil-galad's Aegros and Elendil's Narsil became a constant nightmare for the Dark Servant Army. The Elven arrows seemed endless, the Humans' resolve was unwavering, and the Dwarfs' roar shook the heavens. After paying a heavy price, the Alliance's core forces finally launched a counterattack. Under the might of Narsil and the repeated attacks of the Noldor knights, the Black Númenórean lines began to weaken and retreat. Seeing the situation was dire, the Servant Armies of the Haradrim and the Men of Rhun also began to waver.
Standing high on the Black Gate, Sauron witnessed the reversal of the battle. The traps he carefully laid devoured the Elf Kings of Greenwood and Lórien, and severely damaged the flanks of the Alliance. However, the core of the center army, under the leadership of Elendil and Gil-galad, not only did not collapse, but instead burst out with more powerful strength, defeating his most elite Black Númenórean legion.
"Waste!" Sauron's fury surged like a tangible flame through the void. He realized that he could no longer win the decisive battle on the Dagorlad Plains. Continuing would only waste his precious core strength.
With an inhuman scream of resentment and fury, Sauron's will commanded a retreat. Like a receding tide, the host of darkness began its chaotic flight towards the Black Gate of Mordor. Orcs and their minions abandoned their weapons and armor, trampling over one another. The Ringwraiths, their roars of resentment, shielded the retreat of the defeated army.
Gil-galad and Elendil did not order a blind pursuit. The plains of Dagorlad were littered with corpses, rivers of blood, and the air was thick with the smell of blood and burning. The price of victory was too heavy. They needed to regroup, heal the wounded, and most importantly, the massive Black Gate of Mordor, like the mouth of hell, was approaching.
Sauron's dark form vanished through the Black Gate. The massive, heavy gate, seemingly carved from the rock of a mountain, slammed shut with a sharp, grinding sound. He and the remnants of his host were locked in the shadowy fortress known as Barad-dur, the Dark Tower.
The Battle of Dagorlad ended. At the cost of countless Elves, Men, and Dwarves, the Alliance secured a ruthless victory, forcing Sauron back to his lair. But all knew this was not the end. The true battle had only just begun—they must march into Mordor, lay siege to Barad-dur, and destroy the source of darkness. The blood of Oropher and Amdir, fallen on the plain, and countless nameless warriors, drenched the path to the final battle. Prince Thranduil silently gathered the fragments of his father's shattered armor, his golden eyes ablaze with a cold fire as he took on the burden of the King of the Green Wood. The clouds of war lingered, gathering upon the towering Dark Tower.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
