The Last Hope of the Last Alliance by ESBonline

The Year 3322 of the Second Age

Read The Year 3322 of the Second Age

“Your Alliance will fail.”

Two kings were seated before Galadriel. Their expressions did not change when she pronounced her doom. They assumed she was testing them. 

She had received them in the best of the newly constructed halls, built swiftly but sturdily above the mouth of the Morthond. The Wave had swept in three years before, demolishing the harbor and flooding many of the halls and homes of Edhellond, including her own apartments. Fortunately, the peninsula to the south of the port had protected Cobas Haven from the worst of the deluge. Her adopted realm had escaped the alarming damage suffered at Pelargir and other points south. After the initial cleanup, rebuilding the ships and quays had been Galadriel's first priority, though she knew not yet to what end. 

The Falathrim, ever eager to please her, had offered to construct a grand new hall where she and her family could live and entertain. She had declined. In her self-imposed exile, Galadriel had no desire to receive visitors, had not in fact done so since retreating here after the last terrible war. She had been seeking simplicity, reflection. She had finally agreed to modest quarters connected to a large dining hall where visitors to the harbor -- and there were many who came these days to take ship across the Sea -- could enjoy a final meal in Middle-earth. The hall faced west toward the bay, toward the afternoon sun shining through large windows. Galadriel had at first refused Gil-galad’s entreaties to visit, but her conscience prevailed over her pride. She knew as surely as he that after a 57-year absence, Sauron had returned to Middle-earth. Her King was asking for help, and she dared not refuse him, for the sake of all.

And so she received the King and his friend, this heir of Eärendil, to learn if they might have the will and fortitude to accomplish her desperate plan. They arrived more than a week earlier than expected, however, so she joined them at a small side table in the new hall. The banner of Edhellond – three small white ships on a sea-blue field – hung from the rafters. Food and drink had been hastily laid -- not the feast fit for the Kings of Elves and Men she had intended, but tasty southern dishes that should please these northern lords. Galadriel knew that she must test the Dúnadan's resolve before revealing her plans.

“Sauron cannot be defeated by force of arms so long as he possesses the Ring. With that Ring, he is more powerful than was the Morgoth at the end of the First Age.” Galadriel looked at her cousin. “And we had no hope of defeating that enemy even in his weakened state.”

“Gil-galad has told me of this Ring. You say he cannot be defeated by force of arms while it is his. But you have a different strategy in mind? A plan to separate him from his Ring?” the Man asked boldly.

He was tall and, she was told, past his 150th year. The kings of his race, once so gifted and long-lived, seldom saw their 220th year. Would this Man live to see the coming war? She looked closely at his handsome yet careworn face. In each crease she could discern something of the devastation of losing his homeland. A similar devastation clouded her own mind, even if it did not dim the light and beauty of her countenance. She looked at him, through him. Did this king, Elendil, possess the strength that would be required?

“Yes,” she replied. “But be warned. Victory over Sauron will demand unimaginable sacrifice, for if there is any hope in success, you must meet Sauron in single combat on the field.” 

Bold Elendil flinched at that at least, she noted, and then continued. “And he will not come forth from his tower until he has housed his spirit once more in a terrible form, and until he has arrayed his armies of Orcs and enslaved Men and other deadly creatures against you, so many as to strike fear in the bellies of your heartiest warriors."

Elendil interrupted her. "What about the Nazgûl? His most fell servants, I am told. They will never desert their master, and even the doughtiest fighter is said to flee before them. How are we to prevail against their ring sorcery?"

"We have already taken the Nazgûl into account," Galadriel responded. "They need not concern you. Know only that we have on our side a warrior of old who was sent across the Sea long before the cataclysm to deal with the wraiths.

"Right now you need to understand the magnitude of the choice before you: If you take up this challenge, you face years of war. Your people will die. Your sons may die. You may die. Sauron will not take the field until you have hewed your way to his very doorstep, until the last soldier in his last army has been defeated. Are you prepared to wait, enduring so much loss?”

Elendil straightened in his seat. “This villain set in motion the destruction of my homeland. I thought in my folly that his spirit had been consumed in the wreck of Númenor, but it seems clear – at least to you who are wise – that he has pursued us across the Sea and is quietly preparing to make war on my new home. There are no signs as yet: no army assembling in Mordor, no marshaling of forces that we can discern from the forts with which we have surrounded the enemy’s territory. But Gil-galad tells me he is there nonetheless, biding his time, devising a new form for himself. And that we must prepare for war, a war coming sooner than later, hurtling toward us as a falling star out of the sky.

“I have seen this Sauron, stood face to face with him. He hunted me in Númenor, yet I eluded him. I thought he was destroyed while I lived to see a new day and a new land, but now I find that, after surviving wrack and ruin and the loss of much that I hold dear, I must stand face to face with him again. No matter. I am a Man of the West, of the line of Elros. I am confident that my people will prevail. They are valiant. The might of Númenor has defeated Sauron not once but twice before. We are prepared to make any sacrifice to be rid of him at last. 

“But tell me, Lady, how does one overcome such a powerful spirit in possession of a mighty magic Ring when you say he cannot be defeated by force of arms alone?”

Perceiving at last that he was committed to the task, Galadriel nodded to Gil-galad. “We must surprise him,” she said simply, “by reminding him of the only other time he was defeated in single combat.”

Elendil looked puzzled. “There were no stories in Númenor of a warrior, Elf or Man, who defeated Sauron singlehandedly. He surrendered willingly to Ar-Pharazôn, fled the field when the ships of Tar-Minastir arrived. Gil-galad tells me the physical body in which he cloaked himself in Númenor was destroyed by the cataclysm, but is there some Elvish hero, some lord or king of whom I am not aware, who was able to accomplish the same?”

“This hero was no Man, but a Woman, your own distant ancestor,” Galadriel reminded him with more impatience than she intended.

“Lúthien.” 

“On the bridge of Tol Sirion, she faced Sauron and with the aid of Huan forced his spirit to flee his body, the first and only Child of Ilúvatar to do so. Sauron is much more powerful now than when he was known as the Lord of Werewolves, but he has never forgotten or forgiven his humiliation on the bridge. If we can remind him of that shame – if we can re-create the exact circumstances of that confrontation – then we may introduce in Sauron’s mind the one thing that will allow us to overcome him again: doubt. And in his moment of doubt we must use all of our power to force his spirit to flee his body.”

Elendil’s expression betrayed his own doubt. He looked to Gil-galad for explanation. “Forgive me, but I do not understand. You are suggesting that merely by reminding him of his defeat by Lúthien all those thousands of years ago, we can use confusion and doubt to destroy him?”

Gil-galad spoke for the first time. “Listen to her, Elendil. This is our one chance, our one hope.”

“There is of course much more if my plan is to succeed,” Galadriel pressed on. “It involves ancient relics, powerful spells, and a great sacrifice. In order to replicate the confrontation between Lúthien and Sauron, many things must fall into place in precisely the right order at precisely the right moment. That is what I have been trying to tell you: This Alliance you propose will very likely fail. Unless." She allowed the word to hang in the air for a moment. "Unless you are willing to follow my instructions, undergo careful training, and suffer great loss. Even then, barring catastrophe, on the remote chance that you prevail and Sauron’s spirit is driven forth, you will have to summon even greater strength of will to destroy the One Ring that you will then hold in your hand, so that Sauron’s spirit can never again take shape.”

Clouds obscured the sun outside, and the room dimmed. “I have told you, Galadriel, he is ready,” Gil-galad said earnestly, placing his hand on Elendil’s shoulder. “Tell him the rest.”

Galadriel withdrew two small crystals of amber from her robes and placed them on the table before her. “After Lúthien returned from Angband with the Silmaril, before she followed Beren’s spirit to Mandos, she was consumed with visions of the future. She foresaw that the enemy she had faced on Tol-in-Gaurhoth would one day rise again. She gave me these. This one contains the mingled hair and blood of Huan, preserved in amber.”

Elendil took the crystal, looking deep into the resin at what lay encased therein. “And the other?”

“Likewise, it contains the mingled hair and blood of Wolf-Sauron.”  

The Dúnadan hesitated, fearing for a moment to touch the evil artifact, but Galadriel continued. “Lúthien told me that releasing these relics from the amber in the presence of her enemy would set in motion a spell that, under the proper circumstances, would force his spirit once again from his body. She told me that these would form part of the key to defeating the being we knew then only as Gorthaur, the Morgoth’s most trusted lieutenant.”

Galadriel swallowed, thinking back on her failure at Ost-in-Edhil, and took a long, slow drink from her goblet of wine. “I did not understand at the time who this enemy was that she spoke of, and when next I met him, he went by another name. I missed an opportunity then, in my blindness, before the One Ring was forged, before it magnified his power and made him nearly invincible. If I had but known his true identity . . .”

“You must not blame yourself, Cousin,” Gil-galad said. “Many failed to see the threat he posed until it was too late. And even if you had recognized him as Sauron, you did not have all of the elements required to enact the spell.”

“So there is more than this – this hair and blood?” Elendil asked.

“You know the story,” Galadriel said evenly. “What else was present at Tol Sirion on that day when Sauron’s spirit was forced from his body? What else do we need to re-create that scene? The Ring of Barahir I see there on your finger was present that day, when my brother sacrificed himself to spare Beren's life."

Elendil fingered the ring on his finger reflexively, though his eyes were fixed on her. "And so if the heir of Lúthien is to face the Dark Lord," she continued, "these elements must also be present: A ring crafted in Valinor must face a Ring forged in the fires of Mount Doom. The contents of these crystals must be released, pitting the hair and blood of a legendary hound bred in the Blessed Realm against the hair and blood of a foul werewolf of Angband. And last but not least, the heir of Finwë must sacrifice himself to save the heir of Beren.”

As the meaning of what she said settled in, Elendil turned his head to Gil-galad, his mouth open in disbelief. “This cannot be true,” he said. “There must be some other way.”

Gil-galad smiled placidly. “It is the only way, my friend. Galadriel told me of this solution many centuries ago after Eregion fell. I knew then, as Finrod knew, that one day a sacrifice would be required of me, and that I would go willingly to my doom. When Sauron emerges from his tower at last, I must face him first while you begin enacting the spell. And I will fall.”

Elendil was speechless for several moments and then could only stammer, “But you have told me yourself, you are the last High King of the Noldor. Surely, we have other options?”

“You have heard Galadriel," Gil-galad responded sternly. "Sauron is invincible so long as he wields the Ring. No force of Elves and Men can defeat him in battle; we can only hope to force him from his tower so as to spring the real trap. Throughout this age I have pondered how to overcome my enemy when the Ring confers indomitable strength on him. I have concluded that this deception, this spell, is our only means of victory.”

Gil-galad paused, smiling again. “I have ruled the Eldar for nearly four millennia, a reign longer than all of the previous Noldorin Kings in Middle-earth combined. I go willingly to Mandos and to whatever judgment my kin face there if it means ending Sauron's dominion. And I promise you I will deal him a severse first blow before he strikes me down! Do not let this dissuade you from the task at hand. Galadriel and I both know that the time of the Elves in Middle-earth is nearing its end. Let us usher in a new era of Men with this Last Alliance between our peoples.”

Galadriel interrupted. “There is much more we need to teach you, King Elendil. You will be initiated into mysteries never before taught to Men by the Eldar. You must be instructed in how to unleash the full power of this plan when the time is ripe. You must be prepared to strike Sauron when he is at his weakest, when doubt leaves him most vulnerable. You must be equipped to hold in your hand the One Ring and, resisting the power it will exert over you, to destroy it in the fires of Orodruin. And all of this you must be prepared to do alone. You can tell no one what you have learned here today.” Galadriel turned to Gil-galad. “You have the sword?”

Gil-galad rose and walked to the door where he had stowed some equipment upon their arrival. He returned to the table with a long sword sheathed in a handsome scabbard. He drew a blade that glowed red in the late afternoon sunlight streaming once again through the windows of the hall. "For your first step in this initiation, I bring you a gift. This is Narsil,” the King said. “It was made early in the First Age by the Dwarf Telchar, the master craftsman of Nogrod. It came to me through my father from Maedhros as one of the many gifts they exchanged during the Siege of Angband. It was given Maedhros by Caranthir, who traded with the Dwarves of Nogrod. I was told that Caranthir received it as a gift from Telchar himself, along with a knife forged from the same metal, a metal so strong as to cleave iron as if it were green wood.”

Galadriel continued the story. “Caranthir gave the sword to his brother Maedhros but gave the knife to his brother Curufin, and it was that knife, Angrist, which Beren took from Curufin and then used to cut the Silmaril from the Iron Crown of the Morgoth. It seems to us appropriate that this sword, Angrist's companion, be used to cut the One Ring from the finger of Sauron.”

Gil-galad handed the weapon to Elendil, who stood to receive it. “I always preferred the spear to the sword, and so I carried this gift of my father’s throughout my journeys in Beleriand, but never used it. You are the leader of the Dúnedain in Middle-earth, High King of Arnor and Gondor. Take now, Elf-friend, this sword as a token of allegiance and as a promise that the Eldar will see you through to the end of the war ahead, no matter the cost.”

***

Afterwards, when Elendil had been led away to prepare for his training, Celeborn joined his wife and their King by the hearth. "You arrived sooner than we expected you," Celeborn said.

"So we did," Gil-galad responded. "I met Elendil in the gap between Hithaeglir and Ered Nimrais, where he is constructing two strongholds to guard the pass. Isildur secured the allegiance of a tribe of Men who live in the mountains nearby -- Sauron worshipers until they swore fealty to Isildur -- and they led us through a tunnel beneath the mountains to Erech near the headwaters of the Morthond. Quite a shortcut. Shaved more than a week off our journey." 

Galadriel remembered the night of the Wave, the storm that drove Isildur's ship upriver as her harbor foundered; she had even seen the giant stone he left behind during one of her walks through the countryside. That all nine ships of the Faithful had survived such a cataclysm and reached Middle-earth safely -- did such fortune bode well for the coming war, she wondered, or had the luck of the Dúnedain been exhausted?

Gil-galad smiled at his cousin. “You still have your doubts, I know, but we can do this.”

“I do not doubt his sincerity, or his strength, or his will, Ereinion – or yours, for that matter. But you know as well as I that so much can go wrong. He is not young. What if he dies before Sauron launches his attack? What if he falls in battle before reaching the tower?”

“That is why I wanted to bring his sons here today, so that they too can be initiated,” he replied.

“No,” Galadriel said thoughtfully. “I still believe that to be a mistake. We dare not disperse our power into more than one of Lúthien's heirs, lest each in the end lack the full strength needed to accomplish the task.”

“We have but this one solution, this one chance. Would it not be better if we spread the knowledge to one or both of the sons as well?” 

Galadriel was unmoved. “No. In this case, we should follow the lead of Sauron himself and concentrate our power in one last hope. By spreading the knowledge, we would likely weaken the full power of the spell. If Elendil should fall, then we may consider initiating one of the sons.

“Celeborn shall be there if something should go wrong. You should also instruct Círdan and Elrond to be prepared to destroy the Ring should Elendil not survive the final test. Together, they will have the strength to finish the task. But I ask you not to tell them of your ultimate role, for they will try to dissuade you from your intention and may thereby imperil the outcome.”

“I seldom keep secrets from Círdan, or Elrond for that matter,” Gil-galad responded. “But in this case I agree with you.”

She sensed in him a desire to speak of the Three and suddenly knew without words on whom he would bestow the two rings he held, Narya and Vilya. Speaking of the Three was too dangerous, she knew, but she had more to say about the One. “You must also warn them not to force Elendil – or any Man – to destroy the Ring unless they are prepared to slay him,” Galadriel continued. “One false move in that direction could, I foresee, put a new Dark Lord on the throne of Barad-dûr, or drive a wedge between Eldar and Edain that will send Men down a dark path for ages to come.”

“Of course. And if I should fall in battle before playing my ultimate role, as you say?” Gil-galad ventured.

Galadriel glanced at her husband before replying, though she had already discussed this possibility with Celeborn. “There is only one other heir of Finwë born in the Light of the Trees who yet remains in Middle-earth,” she said matter-of-factly. “You are not the only one prepared to make a sacrifice if necessary. I will be watching this war from afar as it unfolds, and lending you all the power I can conjure.”

“Does this mean you are at last coming back into the world, Galadriel?” Gil-galad asked hopefully. “Your insight and gifts are needed on the White Council. We have missed you during your seclusion here in the south.”

“I do not know if I am ready to return.” Galadriel’s tones were measured. “The burden carried by the Wise is a weight I am not certain I can bear again. The loss and devastation in Eregion were too great. I cannot take the chance of repeating such a mistake. It was only with great reluctance that I admitted you here today at all.”

“You are the best of us, Galadriel, the strongest and wisest of the Wise,” Gil-galad said. "Perhaps this is the sign you have looked for."

“I will watch from afar, as I promised, and do what I can to ensure that all proceeds as planned. After that, I cannot tell.”

Celeborn changed the subject. “We have other questions that need answered, Sire. No ships have left this harbor since the Wave three years ago, but even when we complete repairs and build new ships, where do we send them? What has Círdan learned about the so-called Straight Road?”

Gil-galad frowned with impatience. “We do not yet know how our ships will cross to Valinor because we still do not fully understand what has happened. I have no news for you yet.” He turned again to Galadriel. “Círdan cannot see a land he has never before visited. What does your sight tell you about what transpired in the Blessed Realm?”

Galadriel closed her eyes. “Before the Wave, I walked here in Middle-earth and could yet see the Undying Lands in my waking vision. But since the cataclysm my other sight is clouded. I know only in my heart, as do all who walk in the world visible and invisible, that Ilúvatar has removed Valinor from the Reach of Men. Cannot you or any of the other Exiles see more clearly?” 

Gil-galad sighed. "I was so young when I crossed. Little was clear to me even before the Wave."

Galadriel frowned, troubled. “If Valinor has been removed, yet the land of Aman remains, then what of Tirion, and Alqualondë, and Eressëa? Have our kin been forsaken in this great tumult of the World? Or have they vanished with Valinor?”

Celeborn continued. “Even if we can no longer sail to Valinor, yet these other lands and the Elves there remain, should we send ships west to our kin? Or has that become just another land for Sauron to conquer?”

“Such answers the Wise have been seeking,” Gil-galad said to Galadriel. “Rejoin us so that you can help us ponder these questions. Surely in removing Valinor to protect the Undying Lands from the assault of Ar-Pharazon, Ilúvatar did not abandon his Elder Children there.” 

When she shook her head, still doubting, Gil-galad leaned in reassuringly. “One thing we know: The Valar have not forsaken us completely, Galadriel. They reside still somewhere in Arda, or else the World would be at an end.”

But Galadriel would not speak of the Valar. “Your letter mentioned a stone of Fëanor’s device, something brought by Elendil over the Sea, that could look back to Eressëa?”

“That is what he was told by the Eldar who gave his grandfather the Seeing Stones in Númenor during the dark days there. Palantíri they are called. There are seven. Six correspond one with another, and the Faithful used them to communicate secretly from one part of the island to another. Elendil and his sons have distributed them across the two kingdoms. A Palantír will be set in one of the fortresses I spoke of north of here in the Gap.

“But the seventh, Elendil says, looks back only to its sister-stone in Avallónë. As best we understand, it must be properly positioned before communication is possible. My people have performed some calculations and are building a tower near Mithlond where we hope to align it properly. But it will take time. Do you remember such stones in Fëanor’s smithy?”

“I spent little time there,” Galadriel replied. “But I do remember my father saying that when Fëanor went to Formenos, Nerdanel had some method by which to communicate with her sons. Yes," she muttered, remembering. "There was a time that Indis, who grew close to Nerdanel during their husbands’ exile, sought to heal the wounds within our family by having my father converse with Fëanor across the great distance. But I don’t believe that Father agreed to try, or if he did, that Fëanor was willing to treat with him.”

“Perhaps, then, it was your father who recovered the stones from Fëanor’s smithy, or from the ruin at Formenos, and sent them to the Elves at Avallónë,” Gil-galad suggested, “with instructions for them to convey the Palantíri to the Faithful in Númenor.”

Galadriel was silent at this suggestion, but Gil-galad prodded her. “And if that is the case, it may be that when we align the Palantír on Emyn Beraid with that in Avallónë, we can look West and speak directly to our kin in Eressëa.” 

“At least then you will know how things stand across the Sea,” Galadriel said. “But I fear no one will answer if I look into the stone.”

“Meanwhile,” Celeborn said, “Silvan Elves from Amdír’s kingdom have been streaming into Edhellond since the Great Wave. They fear what it portends and mistrust the Men of the West establishing their kingdoms in Middle-earth. They are asking to take ship across the Sea, but we do not know what to tell them.”

“Yes, we too are being inundated,” Gil-galad replied. “Even some of our own people are loath to remain, so weary are they of battle. But I am telling them to stay and fight. The Dark Lord will reveal himself soon. It is only a matter of time, and we will need every able-bodied Elf – Deep, Grey and Green – standing with us, not fleeing these shores.”

“Amdír sent word that he and Amroth are readying their people for war, but he cannot restrain them from leaving if that is their desire,” Galadriel said gently. 

"No, he cannot restrain them from seeking to depart. But we cannot send them across the Sea either until we learn more. And so they must wait at the Havens and, I hope, listen to reason when we entreat them to join us."

Galadriel smiled. “Amdír also tells me that Oropher is keeping his people close, hoping to ride out the coming storm.”

“Do you think Oropher can be persuaded to join the Alliance?” Gil-galad asked, eager, she knew, for more troops.

Galadriel laughed dirisively. “Oropher has never concealed his aversion to the Noldor, or,” she said, turning to Celeborn, “to those who marry us. But if Amdír stands with us, I expect that he will too.”

The sun sank at last below the horizon of the Sea. The fire in the hearth died down. A look passed between her cousin and her husband. "The hour grows late," Gil-galad said. "You must rest, Galadriel. Elendil will remain here for many weeks to undergo your training, but I set out tomorrow for Lindon." He paused, and then: "Send Celebrían with me for safekeeping."

"I can see that the two of you have made up your mind on this point already," Galadriel said guardedly.

"War is coming, and battle will be joined here in the south," Gil-galad said. "She will be safer in the north. Besides, if I am not mistaken, she wishes to see again a certain lieutenant of mine. He certainly wishes to see her."

"War is coming, Ereinion, but it is likely decades away," she replied. "I need Celebrían here to assist me in Elendil's training, and in managing the influx of Elves fleeing here. And isn't Elrond at Imladris now?"

Gil-galad smiled. "He comes often to my council meetings at Mithlond. He begged me to bring him here, though he did not mention Celebrían of course. But I knew that Elendil and I needed to come alone."

"Celebrían's choices -- to go, to stay, to marry whom she will -- are hers to make. That much we agree on," she said, giving Celeborn a knowing look. "She will remain here for the next few weeks to complete Elendil's training. If she wishes to travel north in his train, then she may do so."

"Elendil's return trip to Annúminas may not be a direct one," Gil-galad cautioned.

"She has seen the worlds of Elves and Dwarves. I suppose it is time that she see something of the world of Men. And it is time that I go to my rest. The two of you may conspire long into the night if you wish. Or better yet, prepare the morning meal. We have many additional mouths to feed here, and it looks as if they are not going anywhere anytime soon."

“So it is decided. All departures into the West are suspended until we learn more,” Celeborn concluded. “Perhaps Círdan will be visited by Ossë and Uinen, and will learn the path on which we must send our ships in the future. I suspect that those who survive the coming war, whether we triumph or fail, will resolve at last to leave Middle-earth.”

“Those who are permitted,” Galadriel said soberly, and then, seeing Celeborn’s expression: “I was not thinking of myself, but of the Dúnedain and others of the Younger Children of Ilúvatar. If this Alliance fails, how can we consign them to slavery and death under the wrath of Sauron? How can we leave them behind?”

To that final question of the evening, neither Gil-galad nor Celeborn had answer.