Dagor Dagorath - The Completed Tale of how Middle-earth came to its end with the re-emergence of Morgoth Bauglir.

**Inarus** · November 08, 2009, 05:06 PM

Here follows the tale of Dagor Dagorath - The Battle of Battles - The Final Battle - Middle-Earth's Doomsday. It follows the Heroes of Light, sent back from their peaceful afterlife to fight Melkor in order that when the World is remade at the end of the Year 2999 it will be a world of peace and beauty, as opposed to a world of evil and slavery lorded over by Melkor.

The Prophecy has been written and defines Túrin as the Victor but should the Prophecy be proved wrong a world of peace will be exceedingly unlikely.

This tale is completed but in the future I plan to improve the worst of the chapters.

Check the map to see how the regions have changed.

A VERY basic outline of the Silmarillion for the thousands that understandably cannot be bothered to read it:

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Eru Ilúvatar makes the Timeless Halls and the race of the Ainur.
The Ainur make the Ainulindalë, the Music of the Ainur which leads to the vision of Arda. Melkor's attempts to disrupt the Music with ideas of his own devising only serve to cause variations in Eru's themes.
Eru makes Eä with the Secret Fire at its centre.
Many Ainur enter Eä.

So in basic terms Ilúvatar is the God of Gods, the Ainur are Gods below Him. They made a "music" but one of the Ainu corrupted it, need I say? He was Melkor, later known as Morgoth. The most powerful Ainur moved into Eä (the Universe).

So Bad Guy Melkor wants the world to Himself (what a surprise) and destroys every one of his brothers achievements, all the sources of the light save the final effort: the Sun and Moon (Anor and Ithil).

The First Age begins with the awakening of the elves who leave Aman (a.k.a The Undying Lands) to go to Middle-Earth (Not the Middle-Earth we LotR Fans know and love but an area, Beleriand, to the North West that is now sunk). During the Elves' voyage east Melkor is captured and imprisoned for 3 ages.

I will skip the detail now, Dwarves and Ents wake simultaneously (Ents guard the trees from Dwarvern axes). Men awake later. Some Men are quickly corrupted by Melkor.

Now of the Silmarils:

Created by Fëanor who is later deceived by Melkor who desires these jewels above all else.
Melkor and Ungoliant (Shelob's Great Mummy) destroy the Two Trees, kill Finwë and steal the Silmarils. Fëanor and his sons swear an oath to regain the Silmarils and the majority of the Noldor depart from Valinor; Noldor kill many Teleri and seize their ships in the First Kinslaying.

To skip a long story short: "the Silmarils remained in all three elements — in the sky, earth and water - and would never be recovered except by the reforming of the earth." So the earth needs to reform. Or even better, Sun, Moon, Stars

Thus follows endless conflict but here i Ctrl+V, Ctrl+C the ending of Melkor:
532 - Elrond and Elros are born to Eärendil and Elwing.
534 - Eärendil begins his great voyages
538 - Third Kinslaying: while Eärendil is away the remaining Sons of Fëanor attack the people of the Mouths of Sirion trying to claim the Silmaril. Elwing casts herself with the Jewel in the sea but is brought to Eärendil by Ulmo. Of the Sons of Fëanor only Maedhros and Maglor now remain.
540 - Morgoth destroys the dwellings of Fëanorians upon Amon Ereb. The last inhabitants of Beleriand flee to the south or to the Isle of Balar. Morgoth's triumph is complete.
542 - Eärendil arrives in Valinor and delivers the errand of the Two Kindreds.
545 - The Host of the Valar arrives in Beleriand.
545–587 - The War of Wrath. Morgoth is defeated; the remaining two Silmarils are stolen by Maedhros and Maglor, but are lost in the earth and in the sea; most of Beleriand and the lands to the north are sunk.
590 - Morgoth is cast into the Void; the Elves are summoned to Valinor and settle in Tol Eressëa; a small part of the Noldor and Sindar remain in Lindon or depart east and establish realms.

Google any strange names you come across, this link supplies a detailed summary: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_Arda
Same one I post 100 times

The following events are not stated by Tolkien, they are my own:

Foreword

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Book I: In the Beginning

‘Here, here. It's the dwarves that go swimming with little hairy women.’

- Gimli

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Chapter I: Prelude to the Darkness

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part III:

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Part III: Of the Men

Balion, son of Balatus, woke up. It was cold again and for good reason, night had come to Gondor but sleep did not follow. It was the third time in the past hour that he had woken and now he rose to his feet, careful not to disturb his wife who lay beside him. Pulling on a fresh tunic, he left moved to the balcony from where he looked out over the splendour of the city below him and of the Capital far away. Osgiliath looked silver in the moonlight, a beautiful monument of the reign of King Eldarion I of the House of Telcontar.

Here in the City of Minas Anor there was silence. No-one moved in the marble streets and- But no, as Balion looked down upon the Fourth Level that lay below his house he saw a party of people murmuring strange words moving upwards. They were robed in black and the leader bore aloft something wrapped in pale rags. Curiosity almost got the better of Balion who moved to the door but then, realising the pointlessness of interfering, he returned to his bed and drove the strange group from his mind.

Minutes passed but sleep did not bless the Gondorian and so, lying restlessly on his bed, he heard the words of the passing group that had been but a murmur when he saw them below:

‘Sha-fli Armauk ob draut hu-na Bot.’ Balion knew not what that meant for such a dark tongue had not been heard since the last New Shadow but he knew it was not a tongue of peace. The Black Speech was famed in its day for being recognised immediately as evil, even to one who could not comprehend it. Balion arose once more from his bed and followed the chant.

Armed with only a sword, he made his way silently up to the seventh level where, in the shadow of the Tower of Ecthelion, the party had halted. He stayed out of sight and listened to the repeated chant and watched as the leader lowered the bundle of rags so that it was at waist height above the Fountain.

And then with Balion realised just what the bundle of rags was, and what the dagger was for. He suddenly leapt from his hiding place and rushed towards the group shouting, ‘Stop, don’t you hurt that baby you bastards! Stop!’. He drew his sword to counter the knife that was poised to sacrifice the newly born but the others revealed their own weapons beneath their robes.

Madly he rushed to the baby’s aid but the group members laughed and parried their foe’s furious blows. For minutes he defended himself and much hurt he dealt his enemies but it was all in vain for their numbers were too great and Balion fell to the ground, blood spurting from a chest wound.

He did not die immediately but all he saw was a slanted view of the water of the fountain and the Tree of Gondor. For a few moments he just heard the distorted words of the cult – for a cult it was, the ancient cult that had not been openly practiced since the Cleansing of Harad – then Balion saw the thing he had feared the most: the fast flow of blood that fell from the baby held above into the moonlit waters. Balion tried to scream but no words escaped and the last thing he saw was the Cult Leader as he stained the White Tree red. Blood red.

There were a few more words and then a stream of lightning flowed from the fountain and shot up the Tower of Ecthelion and into the sky where it caused havoc with nature’s work and a storm engulfed Middle-Earth but it brew far worst in the North, in Hobbiton.

Something was coming, along with the doom of Middle-Earth.

Part IV:

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Part IV: Of the Enemy

In the beginning there had been light and music but the world had changed much since then. Long had He been trapped and now His vengeance would come at the end of the Arda when all would plunge into eternal darkness. The same darkness He had endured for millennia.

To the void He had been banished and now in all His glory He would return and wreak havoc on those beings of Illúvatar. Long had had His servant Sauron researched the secrets of the Door of the Night but with Sauron’s destruction the information had been scattered. But His cult had found these secrets and for the past Age sought to bring back their God.

His face, that had once been divine, beautiful and of light, was now twisted by His evil sorcery and now bore a great scar, scored into His flesh by the talons of Thorondor the First Great Eagle. With a limp he walked for in his foot rested the fragments of the broken hilt of Ringil, sword of Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor who had fallen to His power. And yet he had to be thankful for in his capture his feet had been cut from under Him and in the ages gone they had healed painfully.

And so in the late days of the Fourth Age He heard the words, echoing to Him from beyond the Door, ‘Sha-fli Armauk ob draut hu-na Bot.’ And impatiently He waited for the words to be complete.

And the words came with a newborn’s strength and He looked upon the Door of the Night and laughed for it was worthless in the face of his newfound strength. He broke the chain that bound Him and reformed the collar into the crown it once was, and yet it was colourless without the Silmarils. And He rose to His still painful feet and summoned His power and let it loose upon the barrier between the Void and the Arda. But it held firm.

But He was not one to despair and so cast his strength into the fell beasts of stone that guarded the gate and admired them as they took in the new life He had given them. The beasts of terror rose alive from their places and obeyed their new Master’s will and they screeched until the basalt shook. Once more He let forth His fury upon the Doors of the Night and the lock crumbled and everything changed.

From the darkness of the Void, three Ages since He was last in existence, came Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir, the Great Enemy, the Tyrant, the Traitor.

Melkor had returned to the Arda and Middle-Earth would never be the same again.

Chapter II: Of the Coming of Eärendil

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part III:

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Book II: Heroes and Villains

“Farewell, my brave Hobbits. My work is now finished. Here at last, on the shores of the sea... comes the end of our Fellowship. I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil”

- Gandalf the White

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**Maca** · November 08, 2009, 05:26 PM

Man you get through a lot of FF's, but that's a good thing, and this one is looking very interesting already.

Just to clarify, is this in the fourth age, or will it be a fifth age of sorts?

**Inarus** · November 08, 2009, 05:39 PM

Book II: Heroes and Villains

“Farewell, my brave Hobbits. My work is now finished. Here at last, on the shores of the sea... comes the end of our Fellowship. I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil”

- Gandalf the White

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East of the Mountains

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Chapter VII: The Trees of Fangorn

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part III:

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Part III: The Burning of Fangorn

Alwé awoke, her hair entangled with that of another’s, her arms still wrapped around Boromir.

She rolled away else anyone would see them together and then rose to her feet, looking around to check everyone was still asleep. They were so she sat down again and watched Boromir for a few minutes. From behind a tree trotted her horse, Arcelé; she patted its nose as he came close and murmured some elvish words. Arcelé tossed his head disgruntled and looked away, Alwé followed its gaze and saw that the Ents had moved aside to create a long corridor that stretched out to the southern horizon.

There was the crash of Entish footsteps and Alwé saw Treebeard emerge from the trees, ‘We must hurry! The foul undead breed of Saruman has come for revenge.

And even as he said that Alwé saw the red light of fires in the south and heard the cries of the trees.

*

Many were skeletal save for a few strands of ligament twisted around aged bones; they hacked the trees with their rusty swords and hurled torches into their foe’s midst. As Alwé approached the scene, followed by her companions, she saw the dark clouds coughed up by the Huorns and the Ents hurling heavy boulders at the incoming foe.

They had ridden to the southern edge of Fangorn Forest which was many miles further south than it had been in the Third Age, there an undead party of about one hundred Uruks had launched a vengeful attack on the Trees and many trees now lay burnt to cinders.
Boromir looked upon the enemy in silence, these were the breed that had defeated him, that had broken the Fellowship, that had risked everything; he spurred his steed into the enemy’s midst.

From his seat on Treebeard’s shoulder, Sméagol watched the raiding party of Uruks and madly leapt towards them. As Sméagol fell, he seized an Uruk-Hai by the neck and dragged it down with him where he smashed its head against a rock. Another Uruk tried to grab Sméagol from behind but Sméagol was too fast, leaping upon the creature and savaging its neck. As one Uruk fell, good Sméagol jumped on another, snapped its neck like a twig and moved on.

A boulder smashed to the ground as Alwé rode past the spot, showering her in debris of soil and stone. She arced her sword below her, severing skull from torso, a twist of her body and she stabbed an Uruk in its heart, she pulled out her weapon and smashed it down on a creature’s skull, spraying her in Uruk brain. Finally she was reunited with Boromir and side by side they fought, guarding the others flank and the Uruk wavered for never had they faced such a furious pair.

And under a storm of stone and a rain of steel the undead Uruks of Saruman routed.

Part IV:

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Part IV: Of Rohan and the Departure of the Ents

‘Farewell Treebeard, your journey shall be safe, that I can foretell, if only the destination would be the same. Cross the River Anduin at the South Undeep for there the water shall be safest and easiest to traverse, then make your way in a straight line to the Battle Plain of Dagorlad. Stay with the Dwarves when you encounter them, protect them from anything at all costs, they may bear axe but you share an equal and far greater foe.’ Those were Alwé’s words and Treebeard gave a mighty cry and, from the hill on which the Heroes stood, they saw the forest move. It was so big a feature on the landscape that it seemed as if the entire world before them was marching eastwards with Treebeard leading them with his wife, Fimbrethil, striding beside him. It took the Ents and Huorns an hour to form into an orderly column and even longer for them to disappear over the horizon but by then the Heroes had galloped off to the plains of Rohan.

They crossed the Westfold in two days; the lands were filled with small villages but they were all uninhabited, Théoden feared the worst. When sunset came (the light of the Lamps faded and relit according to times of the day) they were exhausted but the Hornburg was visible in the distance by the light of many torches.

They rode up to the gateway, now reinforced by Mithril. ‘Who goes there and what is your business at this hour?’

Théoden considered replying with their names and desires but realised there would be no significance in the names and their business was hardly believable. He remembered Galadriel had said some sort of password that was understood even by those who had no knowledge of its language, unfortunately he could not recite it.

Alwé’s voice suddenly sounded and it spoke words in Quenya, a language she could not speak but only Boromir saw her eyes to be black and her voice to be toneless. She said: ‘The hour is nigh, the Darkness has come and the free peoples will gather. The Earth will begin at the End.’

And as it had worked for Galadriel, it worked for Alwé and the gates parted.

Chapter VIII: The Last Battle of Helm's Deep

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Chapter IX: The Exodus of Rohan

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part III:

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Chapter X: The Last Steward of Gondor

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part II: Pillow Talk

Boromir walked his fingers affectionately up Alwé’s naked back. ‘Stop that,’ she said and she rolled over to face him, ‘We have better- sorry, more important things to be doing than making love.’

Boromir sighed and relaxed, staring up at the ceiling, ‘What is more important? Gondor has no leader for us to treat with, we must wait several months for all the armies to assemble for war and we must wait even longer for us to have a foe to face.’

‘Gondor has a leader! You are the Heroes of Light, you are to lead your people not stand under their King!’

Boromir faced Alwé and shook his head, ‘No, how can I lead a people who have never heard of me? How can I lead when that King had others to take control after him?’

‘The tales of the Third Age have been retold countless times, Gondor remembers her heroes and in her history two stand out during the War of the Ring: You and Aragorn. Your last stand has been re-enacted on every stage in the Kingdom and your ability to lead soldiers to their doom – and win – will inspire any man to serve with obedience. Boromir you would have been a Steward and so you shall be again: the Last Steward.’

Boromir laughed, ‘It is fine for you to say such things when we lie here, others will not be so loyal.’

‘We lie here for love and the fact that this is a bond that has a foreseeable end. In ten years time we will be no more, erased by a new race of humans, elves and dwarves. We have only to seek some happiness before the end.’ Alwé rose from bed and picked up a robe from the floor and wrapped it around herself. She moved to the window where there was a view of the rooftops of the City. ‘All those people know the end is nigh and know that if they do their part and win they will have a second chance in the world to come. They will trust anyone as long as he is brave and strong, willing to lead...’ she felt Boromir move close and caress her, ‘... and handsome.’

And she turned and kissed him in the fading light.

Back in the West

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Chapter XI: Eriador

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Part I

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Part II:

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Part III:

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In Rhovanion

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Chapter XII: The Spiders of Eryn Lasgalen

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Part I:

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Part III:

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Chapter XIII: The First Casualties

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part III:

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Part III: The Stand of the Heroes

One by one they mounted their borrowed steeds and rode off into the night for when the dragons had struck the Lamps had dimmed. They galloped to a where the lands rose high above the city, below the Lonely Mountain. From his steed Bard watched in anger as the dragons rained fire down on the settlement. ‘Spawn of Glaurung!’ the bowman cried out but the beasts did not hear him. Infuriated he notched an arrow to his bow and stared down the shaft, his fingers twitched and the projectile hurtled through the air, into the darkness.

A moment of silence then a shriek sounded in the air, then a crash and in the light of the fire the Heroes saw a cloud of dust emerge from a dark shape that lay in the burning city’s midst. ‘How?’ Legolas asked, astounded at such marksmanship.

‘There is much time to practice when you are dead,’ Bard replied as he watched the dragons turn from the devastation and fly in their direction. ‘Here they come.’

Gimli nodded and roared loudly, ‘Khazâd!’ There was a rumble of heavy footsteps and the Gates of Erebor were thrown open and from the Halls marched the entire army of the Lonely Mountain Clan, armed to the teeth in the finest Mithril and chanting dwarfish war songs in a low rumble. ‘Brothers,’ Gimli growled as the army drew close, ‘This is the hour of our revenge against these demons of fire, axes ready, man the catapults and let them know that we have learnt much since last we fought. Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!’

And as Gimli roared the battle cry his kin roared it also and those at the rear triggered the catapults of war and flames shot through the sky. Dragons were drawing close and many fell under a fiery barrage, more catapults were set off but these carried barrels that burst mid-flight releasing a storm of water upon the dragons, extinguishing their flames and dampening their bodies.

The dwarven infantry reached for their crossbows from their backs and aimed them into the sky. Then the bolts were loosed and the unanimous clang of the release echoed across the fields, the bolts shot through the air and struck the smouldering beasts all over their bodies, striking holes in their armour, ripping their wings to shreds and blinding them; already the number of dragons was reduced to a quarter of the original number.

Then the dragons’ descent began and they crashed to the earth for either their wings were shredded or they could not see to fly. Dwarves were squashed underfoot but as soon as the landing was over the dwarves leapt upon their foes, hacking steel into scale. One dragon plummeted towards the Heroes and Bard pulled his bowstring to his eye. Twang and the arrow was gone and the dragon spiralled out of control for it was pierced through its heart. But still it kept a straight course, straight towards the Heroes and they scattered save for Bard who was to slow for his maimed leg impeded his riding.

There was a neigh from Bard’s horse, a scream from the rider, a roar from the dragon and it was dead, Bard crushed beneath its corpse.

Part IV:

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Part V:

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Galadriel’s Road

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Chapter XIV: The Road to Lorien

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Part I:

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Part I: The High Pass

Galadriel looked upon the snowy peaks and feared how they would treat her followers.

A wide road snaked up the mountain side and several miles along it they were now at an elevation of eight thousand feet and the snow was thick underfoot. The Lady Galadriel rode at the front of the long line of Hobbits and Men of Arnor and Elves of Beleriand. The Dwarves of the Blue Mountains had a decade ago departed to reinforce Khazad-dûm and the Elves of the West and moved into the East or gone over the seas.

There was the sound of two horses galloping swiftly up the hill and Galadriel turned back and saw Merry and Pippin approach. ‘The hobbits are weary and hungry, my Lady,’ Merry announced and Galadriel hesitated.

‘We camp here for the night but when the sun sets tomorrow we must be descending the eastern slopes.

It was a cold and bitter night but the worst was yet to come: when they awoke the next day the snow was almost covering them and two hobbits had died from being encased in a snowy coffin. A burial was hardly necessary and so with dampened spirits the armies continued the ascent. A chill wind blew westwards and the road was lost under two feet of snow, winter had come early. By the time they were half a mile from the summit the wind had become a storm of hailstones that battered the people of the west until they were in unbearable pain.

But as Pippin’s steed was a few feet from the summit the horse passed through a ceiling in the icy mist and Pippin looked around and saw a clear view of the summits of Middle-Earth’s highest mountains resting alone on a sea of cloud. Galadriel rose to the peak beside him and looked around, she murmured some words of the elves and the storm ceased and the cloud dissipated and all the lands from the trees of Eryn Lasgalen to the summit of Amon Sûl were laid out around them. The two hobbits gasped in awe.

Galadriel let her magic go and the mists return and the armies descended through the roof of the cloud and back into the storm of the mountains.

The wind whistled in their ears, gnawed their ears until they were sore from the cold and sent sudden blasts of air in an attempt to force them off the mountainside. When the sunset over their camp they were out of the snow but a total of thirteen hobbits, seven men and two elves were slain by the mountain. Their bodies lay under metres of snow or at the foot of sheer cliffs.

A small sacrifice out of the millions of free-peoples that were marching south.

Part II:

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The Battle Plain of Dagorlad

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Chapter XV: New Year’s Eve

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part II: The Last Hour of Peace

Present were the Hobbits, the Men of Arnor, the Dwarves of the many Kingdoms, the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen, the Men of Gondor, the Elves of Beleriand, the Men of Rohan, the Heroes of Light. Everyone was present and the numbers were so great that no one had time to count them. One can only say there were millions, maybe even a billion. Even those that can see all cannot speculate the numbers. There were not only men but women too, dressed in armour and as brave as the men. Eagles soared above in the sky and before the walls of Mordor they all waited. It was the last hour of peace.

Boromir and Alwé sat on their steeds ahead of the camp. ‘How many will the enemy bring?’

Alwé shook her head, ‘I cannot say. We will be reinforced though, the men of the early ages have not come yet nor the dwarves, the wizards too will come,’ then quietly she added, ‘This is not right, they should be here.’

The other Heroes joined them: Théoden, Sméagol, Saruman, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Túrin, Thorin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bombur and Bofur. Silently they waited, there was darkness throughout the lands, midnight was coming.
Half an hour to go.

Suddenly there was a deafening eruption as Orodruin exploded, sending flames flying for miles. There was a rain of fire and the earth was quaking once more and then several strange things occurred:

From Mount Doom’s fires a large stone crashed to the ground before the Heroes, many leagues south a giant wave formed in the sea and this tsunami hurtled north, rising the waters of the Anduin and the banks broke sending a wave of water onto the Battle Plain. A large stone washed ashore beside the Heroes. From the sky a star fell and it plummeted to the ground and lay dead at the hooves of the Heroes’ steeds.

The fallen star was Eärendil and he was dead.

There was a stunned silence in which Gimli dismounted and examined each stone in his hands. Alwé jumped to the ground and asked for them, her eyes black. Gimli obeyed and in Alwé’s hands the stones shattered revealing two beautiful gems.

Boromir dismounted now and from Eärendil’s helm he took the stone that was the star and handed it to Alwé who received them and held together in one hand the stones shone with a light as powerful as the Sun once was.

‘They are the Silmarils,’ Alwé said, ‘they will decide the destiny of this Earth.’

It was midnight in Middle-Earth.

Continued at Post 5

**Borissomeone** · November 08, 2009, 06:55 PM

the Rohirrim lost control of their horses for a few years

I'm trying to picture this and all I can picture is some guy riding his horse and losing it on a sharp bend...anyway sounds interesting.

**Inarus** · November 08, 2009, 07:02 PM

Book III: Dagor Dagorath

The Reign of Melkor

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Chapter I: 2990

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part II: A Year of Peace

From his Dark Tower Melkor surveyed the green lands of Seindor and considered his first move. Trapped in the Void he had gained powers of resurrection, the same powers that the Valar were using to resurrect their Heroes of Light. But Morgoth had lost what was rightfully his: his immortality as a god and only the Silmarils would restore it and to get them he needed an army.

When the Door of Night was broken Melkor had used his power to deny any creature except his servants entry into Seindor but in a year’s time it would wear off. And one could not raise an army in a day.

Melkor channelled some of his power into and a mound of soil and the minerals in it glowed and multiplied, the atoms reformed and rose to form a skeleton of light that solidified into bone. More earth formed into organs and muscle and skin and the body was encased and finally a few atoms multiplied into fibres that melded together and wrapped around the figure. Melkor spoke a name: ‘Herumor,’ and the figure’s face, which had previously been featureless, grew a nose, mouth and sockets, behind the lids eyes sprouted from the bone and in the man’s head a brain grew and was immediately flooded with memories of the man’s previous life. His eyelids opened and Herumor, former Mouth of Sauron, saw the world once more. His lips parted next and he said many undecipherable words before they made sense for it had been many years since he had practiced the art of speech. ‘My Lord? Is it really you? Melkor?’

Melkor spoke curtly, ‘Yes I am Melkor; Regain your abilities, Herumor, as much as I need the coming war and despise the concept of peace, I need peace whilst I raise an army and gather my supporters. Go to the accursed Heroes and say they have a year of rest, they may disperse.’

‘Is it necessary for such... niceties?’ Herumor asked and hastily added: ‘my Lord?’

Melkor considered scolding the man for questioning of his orders but instead replied, ‘Let them have peace for when I am finished they will wish they had used this year to enact a swift suicide.’

Part III:

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Part IV:

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Part V:

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Part V: The First Attack

It was night on the twentieth of the second month, Solmath, when Alwé heard the chilling scream.

For almost two months the army had been camped on the bare fields that had once been a marsh of corpses. Indeed the army was so large in size that it stretched off as far as Emyn Muil to the north and to the edge of Dagorlad to the east. The warriors were restless and waited impatiently, the Hobbits were most irritated by the lack of action (and extra meals) and the Heroes were beginning to fear the possibility that some may desert.

But as the last light of the camp went out on that cold winter night a group of black figures emerged from Mordor, they were pale as corpses with keen senses and no weapons. The objective was simple, cause fear.

Alwé pulled on some clothes and stirred Boromir who lay beside her then left the tent, picking up her silver sword, the relic of the War of Wrath that had been passed down through her family ever since it had been discovered in the ruins of Angmar.

Outside it was dark and she lit an extinguished torch and raised it. Another scream broke the silence and she rushed in its direction, other soldiers were waking and following the noise. Alwé approached a tent in which someone was certainly resisting something hostile. Suddenly the attacker sensed Alwé’s approach and in a second he rushed from the tent and managed to get fifteen feet before a soldier hurled a javelin into its heart.

The vampire reduced to a splat of bloody remains, Alwé peered into the tent. The occupant, a woman of around twenty years, lay pale and cold, her neck pierced by two fangs and a two streaks of blood dripped from the open wounds. ‘Dead,’ Alwé pronounced weakly.

Another scream in the distance and Alwé ran towards its source. All of a sudden a shape appeared before her and in the darkness she saw only two long fangs gleaming in the firelight, it seized her throat and, with a sharp twist, jerked her head to one side, exposing her neck. Then the vampire recoiled with a hiss and rounded on its attacker: Boromir stood defiantly facing the creature, his sword wet with blood but then his mouth dropped as he saw the wound he had made meld back together, unscarred. Alwé now rushed it and with a swing of silver cut head from torso.

Saruman rushed up to the two Heroes, ‘Get a spear or something silver for plain steel is useless on these demons. At that moment a vampire passed by them at impossible speed but the White Wizard aimed his staff, muttered some elvish and a beam of bright light scorched the demons and it burnt slowly to death.
Their numbers were few and they fled, they had not expected such resistance.

‘Melkor did not keep his word,’ Boromir observed.

Alwé shook her head, ‘No, he just said that none would die by steel.’

Three women were drained to death; five more were captured and taken to an even worse fate.

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Part VII:

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Part VIII:

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Part VIII: Dagor Dagorath I: The Battle of Gorgoroth

It was warm on the Plateau of Gorgoroth when the armies of light unsheathed their swords and notched arrows to bows.

Upon the flanks the tough dwarves stood confident, in between stood the elves, men and hobbits with the archers behind. The Heroes stood with their respective races, Alwé and Boromir the Steward standing together in the centre of the front rank with the Istari. Boromir planted his standard of the Reunited Kingdom in the ground and took a round, sharp rimmed shield from his back.

Trolls were leading the enemy’s charge followed by Orcs, Balrogs and Dragons with swarms of Spiders scaling the mountain walls so that they could flank the dwarves.

‘Steady!’ Boromir cried.

The trolls were gaining speed (one has to be surprised at how the undead can move so speedily) and were moving closer and closer and... ‘Open Formation!’ Boromir ordered, strafing to one side creating empty columns through which the trolls charged and as they did so the unharmed infantry fell upon them in a rain of steel.

Swiftly the soldiers reformed into a strong line and then the orcs smashed into them. Boromir brought his sword down on the shoulder of an orc and turned and slit the throat of another, then he blocked a scimitar with his shield then brought his weapon round and into its waist, another orc tried to take the place of the dead demon and clashed its sword against Boromir’s who then swiped his shield across the creatures gullet which spurted out a thick mist of blood. A shadow fell upon the Hero who looked up and saw a Balrog and so he rolled forwards, between its legs where he thrust his sword upwards and into its rear. At that moment the archers of Light released a series of volleys into the incoming Balrogs and they roared at which point Boromir struck it again in its spine, it teetered then fell forwards. A group of orcs approached and the Hero crouched under their swords then swung his own through four legs and the last one’s abdomen spilling liquids and guts onto the ashes of Gorgoroth. Boromir glanced behind him and saw Alwé standing on the Balrog’s corpse and so he climbed up next to her to aid her in repulsing the masses of orcs that were climbing up around them.

Gimli roared as he smashed his axe down on an orcish helm and brains glistened in the light of day. The dwarf then smashed his axe through rusty mail and as that orc fell he threw a small axe into another’s unhelmed scalp and then he charged forwards ducking and bringing his weapon up into a creature’s jaw then he turned and hewed another in two, he then swung his axe through the legs of an orc and then finalised the legless creature’s life. Suddenly Gimli dived aside as a torrent of flame was belched out at him and he landed and looked to see a mighty dragon, courageously he rose and cleaved a path towards the demon of fire and upon reaching it he jumped high and smashed his axe into the creature’s scaly flank but with a roar it retaliated, sending the dwarf flying with a kick to the chest and as Gimli lay on the ground stunned the dragon pounced upon him and summoned a breath of flame. The dwarf cried out and swung his axe into the demon’s exposed jaw shattering it into two causing it to recoil at which point Gimli refused to let it strike again and so dived to the right, brought his cold steel through throat scales and opened a wound so deep he could see its spine before an arterial spurt of blood blinded him.

Túrin swiped his blade smoothly through flesh then performed a deadly uppercut through the jaw of another orc before swiping his sword through skin, flesh, muscle, guts. A Balrog was upon him and he blocked its fiery blade without flinching and then pushed back its weapon to stab it in the abdomen before diving aside from under its blade and slashing his own sword across the already wounded belly. The Balrog fell back upon several orcs and Túrin breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Come forth Melkor, let us do battle and end it!’

But Sauron observed the Hero and heard his demand but stood still for it was not the time Him to fight.
The Light armies pushed a hundred feet into Gorgoroth before being repulsed by a barrier of Balrogs. At that point the casualties passed over the thousand for the armies of Light and morale dropped for those on the front line. Boromir looked up at the sky; the light was fading, and fearing another attack of Vampires on either the camp or the army he gave the order to retreat.

The day was over as was the first major conflict of Dagor Dagorath.

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Part X:

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Part X: The Spirit of Sauron

Alwé awoke, pulled on some clothes, and left the tent hurriedly. She heard a scream and knew the Vampires were attacking once more. Then she stopped as an ice cold hand grasped her throat and twisted her head to one side, exposing her neck to the vampire. However she swiftly stabbed her sword into the demon- but there was nothing to stab, like a ghost it taunted her for no mortal blade could kill it.

Boromir realised Alwé was gone and swiftly got dressed. He called out her name but received no reply, in the distance someone screamed and he rushed towards the noise.

Alwé shivered as she felt two sharp pricks in her neck and tried to resist, crying out but the fangs dug deeper and blood surfaced, an icy tongue licked the liquid of life from the wound and Alwé could not oppose the demon, and eventually she felt faint, she could not cry out, only suffer and await the end.

Suddenly the demon released her and she fell to her knees. Boromir was threatening it with a spear but the ghostly vampire leapt at him and a werewolf he became, holding the Hero to the ground.

And then it spoke, ‘One bite and a few pints of your blood and I shall be whole and my powers shall return.’
‘Be gone Lord of Werewolves! The hours of darkness are over; the light of day is come!’ Boromir said quietly and the wolf turned to look east, an orange glow was rising from over the distant plains.

The Lord of Werewolves dissipated and the spirit fled to Nargurthband.

*

‘How do we defeat him – if he is dead already?’

‘Sauron will want to become whole and only a Hero’s blood can give him a body this time. Only whole can he summon his powers and raise an army the likes of which he commanded in the Third Age,’ Gandalf replied, ‘I do not know how we can kill him but if he becomes whole he will be mortal.’

‘We must lose one of our own to kill him?’

‘No,’ Saruman said, ‘if we can strike his spirit with enough light he will not survive, light is immortal and so can kill him.’

Chapter II: 2991

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Part I:

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Part I: Dagor Dagorath II: The Battle of Udûn

In the territory of Udûn the armies of Light awaited the enemy of darkness and with the sounds of drums the evil came.

Alwé glanced at Boromir as the flames of the Balrogs appeared on the horizon, ‘No rousing speech?’

Boromir paused and considered some suitable words, eventually he turned and with Saruman’s powers he cried, ‘Gondorians! Long ago I was one of you but then I rode away but never shall I again! This day we stand with the gallant Rohirrim, the noble elves and the drunken dwarves and against us rises a power so great it would cast this world into slavery; and as you fight you shall feel fear and flee but if you do then the demons shall see your despair and cut you down in your plight! Stand firm, think of the beauty you are defending and never show your foe your back.

‘Now draw your swords raise them high and give a shout to tell the creatures that they are as good as dead; companions, friends, brothers, fight for Gondor, for Rohan, for Dale, for Arnor, for all of Middle-Earth and finally for your woman!’

There was a deafening cheer and Boromir raised his standard to the heavens before planting it in the earth. A minute later the lines of Goblin infantry hit the warriors of the Reunited Kingdom like water on rocks and the second battle for a free and beautiful world began.

Alwé swung her ancient blade through a rusting helm and kicked another approaching beast in its chest before charging it and running it through. She elbowed aside the corpse and severed a torso in two, whipping to the left to parry then dismember a goblin’s arm, the corpse fell aside and nimbly she swung her sword through a creature’s thighs and as it fell another rushed, far too hastily, to take his predecessor’s place. Alwé drew a short knife which she held in her free hand and stabbed the creature with it and it fell to the ground leaving its killer breathless but not exhausted for that Valar had given the Heroes the strength to endure any period of fighting, even if it lasted for days.

Pippin thrust his weapon fiercely into an orc and nimbly ducked under the swing of a scimitar after which he thrust his dagger into his foes heart. He kicked the orc back so that it fell into one of its companions and they both ended up sprawled on the floor. A dead troll smashed into the ground before the hobbit and Pippin leapt onto it where he struck down any beast that climbed up to him.

Beside him climbed Merry and together they made a stand and the hobbits rallied around them and never before had the Little People made such a stand for when the day was ended their losses were far lower than any other race’s and the numbers that fell to their knives and bows were enormous.

But their gallantry did not give them victory for in the ranks of the men of Rohan dragons prospered and slew the most, and one by one the Rohirrim fled and with the middle of the left flank crumbling the armies of Light dared not continue a battle that would damage their numbers too much.

‘My Lord, my men are lost, there is naught I can do,’ Théoden reported and Boromir did not hesitate.

‘Retreat,’ he said and the horns sounded the return to camp.

The day was over and for Rohan the losses were severe.

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Part III:

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Part III: Dagor Dagorath III: The Battle of Dagorlad - Trapped

Boromir raised his sword to the heavens and cried, ‘Men, if I give another speech like the last I fear I’ll scare the horses, so I’ll keep it brief, be brave, stay clear of the pits and don’t let the women beat you!’ Boromir lowered his weapon and shook his head, strange how such words inspired soldiers.

Across the field were over ten thousand orcs that would die that day as well as five hundred dragons and a hundred Balrogs.

The dragons led the charged and stampeded into a wall of spears; most of the weapons broke leaving half embedded in the beasts’ bellies, some slowed to a halt, their charge broken, but only a few died however the steel of the surrounding soldiers soon ended them. However it was these foes that were the most devastating for flames could not be blocked except by the Istari. Gandalf aided the hobbits and they fought well under his inspiration but then, as he felled three orcs in a swipe of his staff, a dragon’s tail struck him from behind and he fell unconscious to the earth, a crowd of orcs gathered round, thirsting for Istar blood.

A Balrog cut through the infantry ranks and Legolas dived aside as it reached his archers, it raised its weapon above his head but the elf let fly an arrow into the demon’s gullet, it stopped and the archers had now recovered well enough to loose a barrage into the beast’s body. It collapsed, dead. Suddenly a dragon spewed its flames upon Legolas’ men and many died in the inferno, Legolas dived aside but like a nimble cat that spies a wounded bird the dragons pounced upon the elf and raised its claws to strike.

Merry ducked nimbly under a sword swing and thrust his dagger up into his foe, he turned around and knifed an orc in the back then parried, clumsily, another sword. But this foe kicked the hobbit to the ground and stabbed his sword downwards however Merry had agilely rolled aside and thought himself free but at that moment another and another crude blade stabbed into the ground around him and he was trapped.

Thorin smashed his axe through an orc helm and bashed aside a torso, in another swing he decapitated an orc and then his axe drove into a breastplate of rust. The orc fell dead and Thorin turned and saw one of the kin of Durin’s Bane cut a flaming path towards him. Fiery blade and sharpest axe clashed in a shower of sparks but Thorin held firm. But then its whip caught him and pulled him to the ground and helpless he watched the blade of flames come down.

Boromir rallied the men and saw them waver, he blew his horn.

The carnage was only beginning.

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Part IV: Dagor Dagorath III: The Battle of Dagorlad – Arise in Might

Théoden heard the blast of the Horn of Gondor and ordered his standard bearer to do the same and so as their horn blew the Rohirrim charged.

They galloped along the eastern flank and rammed at such a speed into the front ranks of orcs that the first five rows of creatures were hurled into the air and those behind were either speared or trampled. The horses’ gallop delved deep into the ranks of orcs and was only halted in places by the mightiest of foes.

Gandalf’s lack of consciousness lasted only a few minutes and he awoke to see a horse jump over him, he rose swiftly and retreated to the ranks of orcs but realised that he had lost sight of Merry and Pippin.

Thorin gasped as a spear, hurled with perfect precision, struck the demon of fire through its heart; it roared and collapsed and the dwarf rose to return to the fight, blood seeped from a shoulder wound but apart from that he was well.

And as the cavalry charge cut through the ranks of evil the orcs wavered and then fled, the battle seemed to be over but then everything changed.

Those who were not engaged in the heat of bloodshed saw them first. They started as black shadows, arising in their might from behind Ered Lithui but they grew as they drew closer, large wings stretching out wider than an Eagle’s; and those that saw them cried out in fear, ‘The Dragons! The Dragons are in the sky!’ And so the winged beasts of fire had come.

They hurtled across Dagorlad leaving a trail of fire, none could resist and things had never looked bleaker; but then from the Mountains came the Eagles and Radagast had succeeded and they clashed with the dragons in a fury of flaming feathers. The Eagles clawed and screeched and the noise was deafening but against fire they were useless, wisely they withdrew before their casualties were too devastating.

And so the battle raged on and from the rear of the enemy army, on a rock that allowed Him to see all, stood Melkor and with great pleasure He watched the ruin of the armies of Light.

Part V:

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Part V: Dagor Dagorath III: The Battle of Dagorlad – A Hero’s Fall

Pippin saw Merry fall and cut his way towards his friend, thrusting his dagger into flesh in a defiant rage, he reached his fellow Hobbit and backstabbed the orc about to slay him then offered Merry a hand to pull him up.

Legolas drew a knife and thrust it into the dragon’s claw, it recoiled and released the Hero who scrambled away and, once free enough, he loosed an arrow into the dragon’s belly. The beast roared but the arrow did little damage and hungrily it hunted the Hero as if nothing else existed to oppose it.

Meanwhile in the sky the dragons circled and breathed their flames down below, the wizards had used their light to repel them and were at first successful but then their power waned and all was lost.

The charge of the Rohirrim was slowing and then everything changed again. In the front lines, a short distance from the King there appeared, moving at an equal speed to the horses, a bright light. It was white and glowed more and more powerful for the seconds that it existed and then it exploded, there was no blast of air of flames, only of light and the light scorched the bellies of the dragons and the bodies of the orcs and the backs of the Balrogs. They were not dead, only stunned but it was not yet over. The light began to fade and in its heart there became clear a figure, riding a strong steed with hair of long blond flowing in the wind, the figure grasped a spear and bore no helm revealing a face of beauty, a woman’s face.

Éowyn, shieldmaiden of Rohan, rode her fair steed at a steady pace and her spear broke the bodies of all it struck. She led the charge and, upon seeing a mighty dragon, she lowered her arm and snatched up a spear from the hands of an orc and raised it to a throwing position. Accurately she launched it into the air but did not have time to see it descend into the heart of the dragon and it pursued Legolas no more.

Merry reached for the proffered hand then stopped as the hand dropped limply. Pippin had stopped dead, literally, for a rusty spear was embedded like a spit through his abdomen. Merry froze, fearing what he was seeing was true but no, Pippin would not, could not...

A stream of blood poured from the Hobbit’s mouth and Pippin collapsed to the ground and his head fell to his friend’s lap, ‘Merry,’ he said weakly and then he was gone.

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Chapter III: 2992

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Part I:

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Part I: The Last Ship

It was a month since the turn of the year when, from the south, a rider approached the camp on Dagorlad. He was dressed in poor material, middle class, with a short beard but shoulder height hair. His large nose wrinkled as the stench of death reached it but he spurred his lame steed on. The guards were unsure as whether or not they should admit him but his intentions were only to bring a message and urgently so they permitted him to enter but only after relieving him of his weapons.

‘I am Talos, son of Talion, my lord,’ he gave a curt bow that hinted that he did not appreciate this stranger from the past returning and seizing the throne. Boromir bid him to continue and Talos said, ‘I was returning by boat from a trading venture in Dol Amroth when I spied a white ship on the horizon. Through a glass I saw clearly that the prow was of a swan and the sail bore a sign that some part of me recognised as the emblem of the Valar.’

Alwé listened and sighed in relief, ‘They have come at last. We may just have the strength to overthrow Melkor.’

*

Less than a week later the guards observed banners of silver flowing in the air and cried aloud that the last Heroes of the West had returned.

They were led by a figure with hair of purest gold, some said that a light radiated outwards from him and they were not wrong for he was Eönwë, a Maia, the banner-bearer and herald of the Ainu Manwë who was the Chief of the Maiar.

Behind Eönwë rode several men, riding next to each other for they were equal: there rode Elendil, Isildur, Aragorn, Eldarion, and beside them rode Arwen and her beauty shone through the darkness. They were the prominent men of the House of Elendil, those who fought and contributed most to the wars against evil. Then came more Heroes: Faramir, the Ringbearers, Éomer, there were Kings of Rohan and many others but the list is too great to mention them all here.

But finally came the soldiers, brave men, elves and dwarves from the second, third and fourth age that had all died soldiers or some that had escaped from the madness that is war for a peaceful end at home.

It would not be wrong to say that every being that had ever opposed evil now stood upon the battle plain of Dagorlad except for those that lay already dead and one species: the Ents.

Part II:

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Chapter IV: 2993

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Part I:

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Part III:

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Chapter V: 2994

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Part I:

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Part I: The Greatest Storm of the Lustrum

It had begun with one rock, dropped from the sky out of the nothingness of beyond but since then there had been none. However, on the first day of 2994 F.A. the boulders of the sky plummeted in earnest; like rain they fell and many were crushed on either side of the mountains of Mordor. It was the fifth year of Dagor Dagorath and it marked a further drop in morale in the camp of Light but the dissenters stayed firm anyway for they knew they could not run from the inevitable, through battle alone they would embrace a beautiful death and a fairer resurrection.

It was a strange sight when the Mouth of Melkor rode up to the camp, his horse fearfully dodged the rain of rock and came to a stop at Morannon, the edge of the territory of the armies of Light.

‘The great God Melkor invites you to battle at the northernmost point of Gorgoroth for there He wishes to end this feud, ultimately. We both know that should there be no victory for either side by the end of this decade then there shall be no new world for either side.’

Herumor then turned and spurred his horse towards tall Nargurthband.

‘Do we proceed?’ Théoden pondered aloud.

Alwé closed her eyes and reopened them black, ‘Yes – though my reason opposes this.’

Boromir looked at her worriedly for he understood the burden of her curse, he took up his horn and blew several blasts, ‘And so we march.’

The armies mobilised and walked steadily through Udûn. Boulders smashed into the ranks of solders and there were cries of fear and agony but still they proceeded. The barren and blackened land of Udûn ended and they came to the Gap of Isenmouthe and from there surveyed, for the first time in a lustrum, the Plateau of Gorgoroth.

Formerly it had been filled with orcs and other demons but four battles had diminished their numbers leaving space upon the black land. Now this was filled with rivers of lava spewed from the broken mouth of Orodruin and deep pits from which they bred more orcs and wilder things. The enemy forces were moving towards the armies of Light and upon Nargurthband two figures stood: Melkor and Sauron. Then they descended.

They were coming to fight.

Part II:

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Part II: Dagor Dagorath V: The Battle of Isenmouthe – Alwé’s Battle

The dwarves were formed into a phalanx that did not fully fill the Gap of Isenmouthe, men and elves guarded the flanks, the Rohirrim unhorsed once again. Boromir, Steward of the Reunited Kingdom, unsheathed his sword and spoke his speech, short and to the point, promising that if they fought bravely they would be victorious.

Balrogs rose from the pits and moved to stand amongst their orc comrades, there were squeals from the small creatures and the rattle of steel, then came a loud beating of fists upon shields, the peoples of Light did not waver though, they had suffered far worse.

Legolas notched an arrow to his bow and stared down the shaft, ‘Faeg i-varv dîn na lanc a nu ranc.’ There was a moment of silence save for heavy breathing and the tightening of bowstrings. Legolas adjusted his aim and pulled the arrow further back, he took a deep breath then cried, ‘Leithio i philinn!’ The simultaneous twangs of hundreds of thousands of bows were deafening and from the ranks of archers black shafts shot straight into the sky before arcing downwards and plummeting into the ranks of goblins but the losses were insignificant as thousands more surged towards the waiting army, overrunning their dying comrades.

I dropped from Arcelé’s saddle and drew my silver sword. The orcs were close now with what looked like blood dribbling from their teeth, they were chanting some words of Black Speech and I thought it curious that such minor ranks were using a tongue that was traditionally used only by captains of the armies.

One creature, a large Uruk, approached me and I observed its foul appearance, a tusk of some form emerged from its lower lip and long, ragged, earth strewn hair sprouted from its scalp. It growled as it laid eyes on me and I stepped forwards, swinging my sword at its waist but the beast parried and turned swiftly to strike my arm; nimbly I dodged the blow and struck the orc upon its- but no it raised its shield to block, next I raised my blade and parried to attacks before ducking and thrusting my blade towards its abdomen, it pierced but before I forced it in deeply the beast sent a foot into my chest and I fell backwards to the ground. A trickle of black blood escaped from the wound but unperturbed it struck me with its rusty blade and had I not rolled aside the wound would have been fatal. And so with blood flowing from my free arm I jumped to my feet kicking out in retaliation and striking the beast’s breast. It roared and rushed at me with its blade pointing at my heart, I dodged the offending weapon and brought mine down hard on the creature’s wrist and the blade cut smoothly through flesh and bone. Unarmed the creature roared again and I preceded to run it through with my sword but the beast suddenly grasped my blade with its only remaining hand and I noticed how it failed to flinch at the pain it took to wrench it from my hand.

My sword dropped to the ground and the Uruk dealt me a blow to my chest, I gasped, winded, but did not point out it was wrong to strike a lady there- instead I kicked my foot into its groin and was satisfied that not all of their pre-corruption parts were lost for it recoiled and showed the first sign of receiving true pain. But it came at me again and my agility served its purpose and I dodged a barrage of punches before dealing one to its face. It reacted by retreating one step, blood pouring from its nostrils and I knew I had been lucky for bare fisted fighting was hardly a talent of mine. It lunged again and this time was successful, and I knew that my nose was now also broken for I tasted blood from where it trickled into my mouth. I struck once more and its lack of agility meant it received the blow where I had carefully aimed it: on the spot of the wound I had dealt it. It grunted and I drew closer, raising my leg so that my knee struck its groin and it howled angrily and as it struggled with the pain I reached around its back for the knife it kept there and drew it.

At that moment the creature recovered and struck me so hard with its head that I fell to the ground once more, the knife lying a foot away from my hand. I reached out for it but the enraged beast dealt me a series of kicks to my side so that I was sure a rib had cracked, however I was reassured that with each kick my hand drew closer to the knife and finally I seized it and – and where I got the strength and accuracy I cannot tell for I managed to hurl the short weapon and strike the artery in its neck precisely. It still lived – somehow – and defiantly it ripped the dagger from its throat and made to aim it at me. But it is always a grave error to pull a blade from a potentially fatal wound for as soon as it did so, blood spurted like a fountain from the wound and the beast fell, losing consciousness and ultimately, life.

I rose to my feet and suddenly the beating that had been dealt to me sent out all the messages of pain it had been withholding and I screamed at the sudden shock of a blade stabbing into my heart and I looked into the eyes of the offending orc and coughed a mouthful of my blood into its face.

And it all went black...

Part III:

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Part III: Dagor Dagorath V: The Battle of Isenmouthe – Possessed

Boromir searched for the source of the scream and despaired as he saw the orc run Alwé though with a crude and rusty sabre, he made to rush to her aid but then something abnormal occurred.

And it all went black, black like when I had a vision for my eyesight ceased and then returned with all the people I saw bordered in a golden glow and all the light was burningly bright. I tasted blood in my mouth and the flavour was strangely overpowering – more than normal. I heard things that one would not regularly hear, the sound of the flames of a Balrog on the other side of the battlefield, my sense of smell seemed stronger too and I was completely confused for never before had this happened during a vision.

Then my body went numb and I realised that all I could control was my thoughts: something else was in control of my body and I watched as the sword that was in my heart ejected itself as if it was thrown and the hilt shot into then through its owner and the orc was thrown back, dead. Now the being controlling me moved me forwards and it – I? – struck down another orc and another and I realised my body was moving in ways I had never thought possible; with a jump I landed on an orc and pushed my sword into its chest. What was controlling me?

Boromir’s jaw dropped as he saw the beautiful Alwé strike down any foe that opposed her with a skill that no mortal possessed, nor even an immortal elf. She jumped into the air and slashed and stabbed with the grace of an elf and the invincibility of a god.

A Balrog towered above me and the being inside me leapt high and I pursued and my sword shone blood red in the light of day and then disappeared up to the hilt into the Balrog’s neck. I fell to the ground a different shadow fell upon me and the being inside me fled for it was not he who would strike down this monster. Alone I rose and rested a hand upon my left breast where my armour was pierced; the skin was untouched; I had been healed.

And with that knowledge I stared into the hollow eyes of Melkor, ‘This is the end, demon of Night!’ That said, our blades met and the clash of Heroes against Villains was begun.

Part IV:

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Part IV: Dagor Dagorath V: The Battle of Isenmouthe – Melkor

I observed the battle and was angered for the tactics of the enemy were superior. I marched through the ranks of orcs and readied Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld. My presence unnerved the peoples of Light and they cowered as I brought Grond down upon them. I swiped it through their ranks and men were hurled into the air and I was invincible.

A spear was thrust at my heart but it shattered on my armour and I smashed the skull of the offender, screams filled the enemy’s ranks and then I stopped, there was a strange presence, a god’s. I turned and searched for the being and saw a woman, she was fighting with a skill no human possessed and there was something inside her – some being of power.

I approached her and saw her kill a Balrog with one accurate stab but as my shadow fell upon her the god within fled and it was she and I, duelling alone.

‘This is the end, demon of Night!’ she said as her sword met my Hammer and I was surprised at how this mortal blocked Grond with such a display of strength.

Morgoth brought down His weapon but nimble Alwé dodged the clumsy tool with ease. Many times did He try to smash her to the ground and every time He failed and every time He delved a deep pit into the ground. Angered, the twisted Ainur aimed once more at the woman but she rolled aside and into a pit where she thrust her blade of silver up and into her enemy’s abdomen, a trickle of blood escaped but Melkor smashed Grond down upon her and only in the last second did she parry it.

Alwé then climbed from the pit, repulsing more and more attempts on her life. Frustrated at His foe’s fortune Melkor swiped cruel Grond at her legs but agilely she jumped over the Hammer and lunged again but this proved foolish as Melkor’s weapon was brought back and smashed into Alwé’s pelvis and she was thrown to the ground. Was the god still protecting her? No bones were broken that was for sure. She raised herself from where she had landed and instantly the shadow of Melkor was upon her and weakly she parried more and more swings of Grond and finally Melkor himself tired for He was no longer a god and a single weak lunge left His waist open to assault and their Alwé struck and blood spurted from a split artery.

But there came a point when, plagued with fatigue, Alwé fell to her knees in weakness and then rolled aside into a pit and there she lay unconscious and Melkor towered over her.

And Grond came down.

Part V:

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Part VI:

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Continued at Post 7

**Borissomeone** · November 08, 2009, 07:46 PM

Part 1 - short and sweet like a Hobbit.

**Inarus** · November 08, 2009, 07:48 PM

Book III: Dagor Dagorath

The Reign of Sauron

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Chapter VI: 2995 – A New Power is Rising

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part III:

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Chapter VII: 2996

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Part II: Dagor Dagorath VI: The Battle of Orodruin – Théoden

My swift steed picked up a steady pace and soon the wind was rushing through my hair. Ahead the orcs gathered and their spears glinted as they were lowered into my path but I ensured my horse kept on its course and waited for the moment of impact.

A barrage of stones dropped into the lines of orcs and they fled in fear of the new foe to the battle: the Ents. The hurling of rocks only happened once and a few seconds later my horses of the Rohirrim slammed into the cowardly backs of the orcs. I brought my sword into the neck of an orc and blood shot up my hand as the head went flying, another thrust and an orc fell beneath my blade, I arced my blade over my steed and stabbed it into the shoulder of a creature to my left. It collapsed dead and as I removed my blade a surge of foul liquid licked my arm. I moved my sword back to my right hand side and swung it at a passing goblin, severing its arm and an arterial spurt splashed the white coat of my steed who it seemed was slowing down.

Finally we were moving at a walker’s pace and I called out to my men to retreat before the orcs retaliated but it was too late. A shadow fell upon me and in despair I turned around, feeling a sense of déjà-vu. A loud roar sounded in my ears and I was deaf to all else. Above me towered a being I had never seen nor heard of before, standing on two legs with the appearance of a giant lizard but I doubted this beast was after insects. Its claw swooped down with the aim to seize me from its saddle and I raised my sword to defend myself, as its wrist came near I struck it in two but the impact was like driving an axe into wood. My arm ached but I ignored it and spurred my steed forwards, close to its leg which I drew my weapon along causing the beast further agony. It roared, raising its head in its fury and I took one of several throwing spears from my saddle and hurled it accurately into the demon’s gullet. A final howl and it pitched forwards, slain as was the horseman trapped under it.

I did not indulge in a cheer of victory at the beast’s death unlike my comrades for I saw what was coming: behind a sea of routing orcs came a stampede of Seinangulóce and I raised my sword and it shone like a star in the darkness of Mordor, ‘Death!’ I cried and charged.

Part III:

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Part I: Dagor Dagorath VI: The Battle of Orodruin – The Seinlóce

I followed my uncle Théoden and soon I was in the shadow of a might Seinlóce, riding beside my brother who looked as nervous as I felt; that was not reassuring. I encouraged my steed to accelerate but its confidence was leaking away the closer it got to the creature; I raised my sword and held it ready to strike the creature’s leg.

Suddenly the beast gave a deafening roar and I was hurled from the saddle as my horse bolted. Unsteadily I rose and moved towards the Seinlóce as it charged toward me; I cut down an orc that had been lucky to survive the Rohirrim’s initial charge as I passed it and then focused on the larger foe. My eyes were level with its belly and as the creature charged towards our armies I slid between its forelegs and swung my sword overhead ripping open its stomach and I only just missed its contents.

I darted from underneath the collapsing beast and the earth shook behind me. I heard a roar and saw a Seinlóce, this one’s neck was longer than a Mûmak’s trunk and it aimed to strike me down but I denied it that by dodging the lengthy neck and swing my blade through its oesophagus, two strong hacks and it severed.

I heard someone scream and looked to my right, a man lay trapped under the dismembered tail of an Attalyóce. I rushed cautiously over to help him and was relieved when removing the tail caused him no further pain. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured and he went on to say more but those words were lost in the roar of the tail’s owner who entered my vision too late to allow me to prevent it from snatching up the man I had saved, in one swift movement it ripped off his head with its teeth, chewed for a second then swallowed the rest of him. I cried out, tears streamed down my face but I was a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, I would do my country proud; in one swing I let fly my sword and it spun through the air before spinning across the beast’s throat, slitting it open and a river of blood and a severed human foot poured out. I retched.

The charge of the Rohirrim had been quickly overrun by that of the Seinangulóce and went on to plough through the ranks of elves, men, hobbits and dwarves. The Ents resisted well for they were tall and strong and many Seinangulóce fell under a barrage of boulders but nothing could defeat the might of the Attalyóce.

Gandalf rode swiftly in search of Radagast and shouted over the roar of the battle, ‘We cannot hold them but if the five Istari are together we may hold them, find Saruman and order him to leave his army and aid us here immediately, he cannot be far away, take the pass of Minas Ithil! Go!’

Part IV:

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Part V:

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Chapter VIII: 2997 - The Siege of Nargurthband: Year I

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Part I:

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Part II: Dagor Dagorath VII: The Battle of Mordor

‘Rohirrim, form up.

‘Now is the hour, Riders of Rohan, to face a foe that once before we defeated, let us do so once more!

‘For Peace! For Freedom! To the Death’

That said Théoden spurred his steed forwards and behind him came his subjects, swift as only a Rohirrim’s horse is they ploughed through the front ranks of Haradrim before the Southrons had time to raise their spears. Overcome by a wave of death the infantry wavered and fled but the Mûmakil were not so easily terrified. They stampeded through the lines of horsemen and many men died under the footfalls of the Great Beasts. Spears were loosed into the air and they came down upon the Mûmak like needles but some pierced corneas or felled the Mûmak’s master causing chaos. Never had a battlefield looked so disorderly as when many Mûmakil became entangled and victorious the riders cheered.

But then they saw the fresh wave of enemies approaching.

*

The orcs, trolls and Seinangulóce fared badly against the pikes of the Uruk-Hai for nothing could get close enough to slay the wielders. Occasionally a breach appeared but the Istar Saruman sealed it as best he could. The Attalyangulóce were terrified by the black darts of the crossbows and fled and in doing so crushed many orcs. Some, however, were infuriated and caused far more devastation than any other. The Uruks proved valiant and fearless and were victorious after little effort.

*

Aragorn ordered his soldiers into formation and waited as the golden army advanced, pikes thrust forwards. As the men of Rhûn came in reach, the soldiers of light crouched and used their shields to raise the enemy’s pikes out of their path and then charged forwards and in the melee that ensued only armour and skill would triumph.

*

Legolas loosed an arrow into a routing Southron’s rear and ran towards an approaching Mûmak, in a leap he seized the creature’s tusk and then propelled himself nimbly onto the beast’s foreleg. Another jump and he was on the creature’s rear leg and he paused to take a breath. He had done this before so there would be no problem. He then climbed upwards onto its back and cut down an opposing Haradrim warrior before seizing a swinging rope and falling past the straps of the creature’s wooden platform. He drew his knife along these and then released the rope and as planned he landed on the head of the Great Beast. Three arrows to its neck and the creature roared and began to fall and the elf slid down its trunk which suddenly flicked him into the air. Legolas cried out then fell and in revenge the Mûmak thrust its tusk upwards and through the falling elf’s chest. Legolas gasped in pain and then the darkness took him.

The day was won but at another, terrible price: Dwalin, Oin and Legolas lay slain.

Chapter IX: 2998 - The Siege of Nargurthband: Year II

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Part I:

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Part I: Dagor Dagorath VIII: The Sally of Nargurthband – Sally

Alwé emerged from her tent and moved slowly across to the Steward’s tent. ‘How goes things?’

‘Alwé you should be resting,’ Boromir said, surprised at her appearance.

‘A graze in my side is nothing in comparisons to the pains we women must endure in our lives.’

Éowyn laughed but the Steward was not so amused, he rushed over to Alwé, pressed his hands to her arms and led her outside; there he raised her top to reveal the long scar that was now only a hair’s breadth. The Dúnedain shivered as he drew a finger across the red mark, ‘I am healed,’ she stated.

‘Not underneath, if there is but a single weakness in the flesh and it breaks the bleeding will be your death, and I cannot see that. Alwé, don’t fight.’

An orc horn sounded suddenly and all heads focused on towering Nargurthband. The enemy was making a sally; Boromir looked at Alwé and repeated, ‘Return to your tent, and stay there!’ then he ran to join his fellow soldiers on the slopes of Mount Doom.

The Gates of Nargurthband had parted and across the walkway on which Sauron had once forged his Master Ring marched the orcs of the tower. They chanted the Black Speech in cold voices though many of them knew not its meaning, they spoke of the fires of Orodruin, of how they would encircle the Earth, of how the iron of Sauron would enslave all who opposed Him. They spilled out of the chambers of Sammath Naur and onto the mountainside where the armies of light greeted them.

The Uruks of Saruman led the charge up the mountain for they were the hardiest. They met their foes and the orcs were confused and fearful that such beasts would oppose them. Then came the men and they clashed beside their Uruk comrades and a strange sight it was. The Uruk-Hai were led by Uglúk and he was greatest of them all for never had an Uruk managed to drink so much blood in a contest as he did on the eve of the march to war.

Uglúk now pushed forward with his shield and brought his sword overhead, cleaving an orc in two. He heard a roar and saw a troll approaching but he held firm, slicing aside two orcs then raising his shield in his defence from the mighty beast’s club. Uglúk buckled under the impact of wood and metal but managed to push upwards against the weapon then thrust his blade forwards and up, spilling the creature’s guts onto the mountainside.

Éowyn bashed a shield against the helm of an orc and the creature fell stunned to the ground where it was trampled by friends and foes. The Shieldmaiden stabbed her sword through another enemy’s armour and parried a barrage of blows by a Mordor Uruk before blocking the last with her shield and running her sword across its throat. Concerned she saw the orcs near her waver and she roared at them, hoping to inspire further fear. Instead they laughed and surged towards her.

Alwé returned to her tent and took her bow and quiver from where it lay with her other weapons. She then rushed outside as fast as her wound could permit and stopped in a suitable position; she raised her bow and touched an arrow to the bowstring. She drew it back and in her waist she felt as if she was being stabbed by knives but she kept pulling back the string. She could not make it reach her chin but released it and it soared off into the darkness. An orc fell dead. She prepared another shaft, notching it to her bow then releasing it. This time the pain was worse and she doubled over, tears in her eyes.

She released one last arrow into the darkness and the pain overcame her and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

Part II:

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Chapter X: 2999 – The Destruction of Middle-Earth

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Part I:

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Part II:

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Part II: Dagor Dagorath IX: The Storming of Nargurthband

Boromir and Alwé led the charge and the orcs at the gate quailed at their battle cries. They fought under the archway of the Great Gate, man and Uruk together and orc and troll routed from their fury and determination.

The armies climbed up countless flights of stairs, and the orcs fled or were overrun. It was dark within Nargurthband, few candles flickered in brackets for few of its inhabitants needed light. They reached the penultimate storey and there waited Herumor, the Mouth of Sauron. He fought with determination, though he had little chance and under attack from all sides by Uruk and man alike it was a miracle he survived for as long as he did. Finally he was crushed under a cruel Uruk blade and was no more.

Boromir, Alwé, Thorin, Glorfindel, Merry and Isildur ascended alone to the summit where Sauron waited for them.

‘Heroes of Light, so it comes to this at last, then let it end swiftly.’ That said, Sauron swung his mace and only just missed Merry who dived aside easily. But Sauron’s mace continued on its arc and caught Thorin’s jaw, hurling him into a corner where a pool of blood spread out. Isildur rushed forwards but Sauron was too swift and brought his mace down on the man’s helm. Alwé rushed forwards and her blade clashed against her foe’s weapon but before she managed to take a knife and thrust it into her enemy’s heart, Sauron thrust his foot into her abdomen and she fell back winded. He swung his mace once more and caught Merry’s chest and the hobbit fell to the floor, Glorfindel leapt at him but he too was thrown to the ground, Boromir raised his sword and thrust it at the demon and it pierced His armour but there was no wound. It would take more than steel to slay Sauron. The Enemy now knocked aside the blade and the disarmed Steward lay at Sauron’s feet and around them, covering the pinnacle of Nargurthband was the mix of the races’ blood.

‘See now, Steward. See how none can resist my might. Take my hand and you too shall be invincible as I am, take my hand and all shall obey you, all shall fear you, you will be Lord of all.’ It was not the offer but his words that could persuade any mind, especially the weakest. Boromir shivered as if cold. ‘Rise now Boromir son of Denethor and be Lord of all.’

And Boromir rose.

Part III:

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Part III: The Terrible Lady

Boromir seized Alwé’s silver sword that lay in a pool of the races’ blood then rose to his feet. In a swift motion he passed silver sword through the monster’s neck. Sauron’s head, however, did not fall and Boromir watched in amazement as the skin melded back together.

‘That’s impossible!’ he exclaimed.

But within the veins and arteries in Sauron’s neck a new substance spread out and it flowed swiftly and every vital organ it passed expired. The blood of the races, elves, dwarves, men and hobbits, was poisoning Sauron. The Once Lord of the Rings fell to the ground and screamed and from his cruel mouth emerged a black spirit, Melkor and Sauron’s souls bonded together. It did not dissipate but instead flew away, north-eastwards.

Boromir fell to his knees beside Alwé who seemed well enough, only winded. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but what’s that?’

Something was forming out of the air and at that moment Gimli and Saruman emerged on the pinnacle of the tower. ‘We must go, the foundations are breaking!’ Saruman warned but no one else was heeding him. Gimli stared aghast at the woman’s spirit that was forming.

Her hair was golden, the right side of her face was beautiful, pure, but that was not the side Gimli saw. The left half was charcoal in colour from the flames that had ravaged it, the eye was black with a pupil of raging fire. ‘Galadriel?’ Gimli murmured.

The Terrible Lady ignored him and stared into the eyes of Boromir and Alwé and said, ‘This is the end, Parents of Mankind. Your task is simple but hard, you must abandon the war to come, ride as if the Nazgûl themselves were on your tail and get to the Shire before the 1st of Lithe. You have little time. There you shall find a henge of stone and in it awaits the beings that will endure, make sure you take the Book from Bilbo then the two of you must stand beside the altar stone in the heart of the circle and endure the long wait whilst the world tears up around you. Stay within and you shall be safe. For the sake of all, you must survive. Ride now, ride swift, stay together. Good luck, Boromir and Alwé, and Namárië.’

Part IV:

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Part V:

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Part VI:

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Part VI: Stonehenge

Here the hand of Alwé takes up the tale.

It was before sunset on the first of Lithe when Alwé and Boromir reached the Circle of Doom: the circle of erect stones that had stood for millennia without reason. It was said that at dawn on that day a peculiar event occurs but this time it would be different.

Within the circle rested cattle and swine, dogs and cats, there was even two baby Mûmakil. There was two of everything and a peculiar scene it was. With great difficulty Alwé and Boromir moved to stand beside the Altar Stone and there they waited, clasping the Book.

That day only one Lamp lit and that was in the east and it shone its light in between the Heel Stone and onto the Alter Stone at the centre of the ring of stone and the light exploded and acted as a shield around the Henge of Stone and that moment was counted as the New Year and in distant Mordor Orodruin and the tower within exploded and the torrents of flame engulfed Middle-Earth and within the Circle of Doom Alwé and Boromir and the animals to survive watched all the world rage outside the pillars of stone. They saw trees be uprooted and dissolve into the air, stone cracked under pressure, a Seinangulóce’s bones were scattered, fossils were created and others destroyed, all trace of orcs, Ents, Balrogs and the like were obliterated but the fossils of the Sauron’s mightiest creations survived.

All the History of Middle-Earth was wiped out save for the Book that Alwé held onto in a sweaty but firm grip.

But at last the winds reached inside the henge and dragged beasts and birds across the new world, the Mûmakil were taken south, the creatures of the sea taken to water, beasts of the cold taken to the poles. And at last the winds stopped and Alwé and Boromir opened their eyes and surveyed their New World.

In all directions stretched fair green pastures, a few forests were on the horizon. Nearby two sheep bleated but then took a few bites out of the lush grass. Boromir laughed for he and Alwé were alone on some beautiful isle where war had never been heard of.

But then they shivered and turned around and Boromir asked, ‘What is that?’ as a black shape escaped from Stonehenge.

‘Evil,’ Alwé replied weakly.

And so began the dwelling of Alwé and Boromir in their Earth but the spirit of Melkor-Sauron would endure.

Continued at Post 9

**Borissomeone** · November 08, 2009, 07:58 PM

I like demons, great start for the dwarfs. Let the Battle begin.

**Inarus** · November 08, 2009, 08:03 PM

Book IV: Earth

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Chapter I: The Dawn of Time

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Part II:

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Part II: In Search of Settlement

They passed through dense forests and fertile fields. Two cows came from a field and followed them, as did two pigs later on. About two miles from Stonehenge they came to a river (The River Avon as it is later known).

They examined the width in either direction but it did not grow narrower, trees lined the banks and Alwé observed the long branches as they stretched out far into the middle of the river, some branches managed to touch others from the opposite banks. ‘We might be able to climb them, I would rather not get wet when there is the threat of a cold wind or heavy rain.’

They proceeded to do so and instantly Alwé plummeted into the depths of the river, she screamed, cursed and cursed again. Boromir had the same misfortune and together they swum to the other shore followed by the animals. Alwé pulled herself onto the bank and stepped in soft earth, ‘Clay,’ she observed before going on to washing her feet in the water. ‘I guess we shall need such materials, but how would we carry them? We could camp here.’

Boromir hesitated and walked a few feet to where the trees thinned and he had a clear view of their destination in the distance, ‘I would say it is two miles at the least and there appears to be a waterfall on this side – possibly leading here. We must continue.’

Alwé nodded and cursed as she stepped on a twig, ‘I wish I had the feet of a hobbit.’

They continued walking for a mile and then stopped for they had come to a field with a herd of at least twelve cows. ‘How did all of them get here? Have we arrived late in this world to allow them time to breed?’ Alwé speculated which was all they could do. How long they had been kept frozen in time whilst the animals of Earth spread across the continents none know, perhaps a time will come when archaeology reveals all but so far the tricks of the Creation Storm (as the making of Earth from Middle-Earth is called) have fooled every man who would rather believe fossils than eyewitnesses.

The two cows that had been following us went to join this herd and completely bemused we continued towards the rising hill.

They adjusted their route to ascend up the southern side rather than take the more direct but far steeper western face of the fell. By the time they reached the peak the sun was casting its final orange glow that was beautiful from the hilltop. The lands stretched out in all directions, mainly covered in trees but there were some stretches of open fields, plains of grass that were a perfect shade of emerald.

Alwé expressed a feeling of awe, stepped forwards and suddenly the ground collapsed beneath her and she plummeted into darkness.

Part III:

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Part IV:

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Part IV: The Art of the Hunt

Alwé disentangled herself from the arms of her lover and, snatching up her clothes from the floor as well as her sword, she moved through the cave.

Where they slept it was wide with a large expanse of dry ground but there the cave ended except for the small crack in the wall that was the source of the river. The slowly flowing water travelled to the mouth of the cave where it finally cascaded to the ground, many feet below, from a lower angle it was beautiful but from the cave mouth it provoked vertigo. Alwé looked calmly from the peak of the waterfall though for she had never been a fearer of heights. A forest stretched out below her and then ended abruptly as a sea of grass took over and she gasped in awe as she saw great beings upon them and there were many; they were like elephants but with thick brown fur and far greater tusks. They appeared to be feeding on the surrounding vegetation, curious beasts, she considered going down to see whether or not they were aggressive.

She felt Boromir brush against her and she turned and kissed him briefly, ‘We need food, at least water won’t be a problem.’

Boromir surveyed the valley and his eyes fell on the elephant-resembling animals, ‘Do you think they’re edible?’

Alwé shook her head, ‘How in Elendil’s name would we haul a carcass that size up here? And besides, one of those things would feed us for weeks but would be inedible in a few days. There were lots of cows, could maybe find some deer. Let’s hunt.’

They carefully traversed the ledge to a safer slope then descended into the valley. They severed branches and attached flint to them to create axes and spears, weapons and tools; then they descended further to where Alwé had seen the Great Beasts.

‘They’re massive!’ Alwé exclaimed.

‘Mammoth in size,’ Boromir said, awed.

Alwé moved approached the closest; it regarded her with indifference then broke off a large branch from a tree with its trunk. Alwé ran a hand through its fur and found it was wool, several strands broke off in her hand, she spoke her thoughts, ‘Wool, so thick the beast must be burning! Do you think there was a strong period of cold? I mean, there’s ice in the cave, I thought I saw snow earlier on the distant hilltops, its hardly warm but I was putting it down to a lack of decent clothing.’

They continued northwards to where they found a group of deer grazing. They hid in bushes near their prey, Boromir raised a crude spear and launched it into the air, it fell short and clattered into a tree, the deer raised its head, searched for an enemy, saw nothing then lowered its head. Boromir tried hard not to swear audibly, he glanced at Alwé who seemed to be surveying the animal with sympathy, then hurled a second spear. It obviously would go wild but the deer had sighted the man’s movement and darted away from the trees, into the path of the spear. It fell dead.

Part V:

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Part V: The Infection Begins

Alwé crouched in the undergrowth and watched the beast carefully.

It had two long fangs from its upper lip that curled down at a length of at least ten inches! It prowled between two trees ahead, watching a distant mammoth, waiting to strike; unaware that it too was prey, my prey.

I stepped forward and immediately regretted it as my foot fell upon a twig and the sabre-toothed tiger looked into my eyes and growled.

‘Nice pussycat,’ I said timidly and it snarled once more and approached. I lowered my spear.

Suddenly there was the sound of a stampeding beast and both our heads turned to see the vegetarian mammoth charging towards us with a look that told me two things: it was no longer vegetarian; it was possessed and thirsting for our blood.

For a second I considered standing before it with my spear but as it tossed aside the sabre-toothed cat like it was a fly I chose the more sensible option, and ran. I saw a figure ahead and shouted, ‘Boromir, run!’ Boromir turned, saw the beast and retreated a few paces, raising his spear. A second later it whooshed through the air and I gasped as something prodded my back. I slowed down and looked behind me, the mammoth had fallen to the floor and skidded to a halt, the spear emerged from its shoulder. I moved closer and ran a finger across its tusk, my finger came up wet with my blood; I massaged my back, it had left a bigger mark than I thought. My hand moved to my abdomen and rubbed it gently, no pain, good.

‘Are you alright?’ Boromir had come over and I felt his arm around my waist but I was still cold, something was in the air. Finally the light in the mammoth’s eyes died and from its corpse a black spirit rose, it towered above us, taking the form of Sauron as he was when he faced Isildur and lost the Ring.

‘This is not over, Parents of Mankind, my evil is just beginning, look it is already spreading,’ that said Melkor-Sauron dissipated into black sparks that parted in the wind, spreading, IT was always spreading, IT was Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride, above all IT was the Need to Murder and there was plenty of that yet to be attributed to the combined Spirits of the Dark Lords.

We decided to prepare both animals as food and from the mammoth there was much to salvage, particularly the wool in preparation for the winter to come. We ascended to the cave but it took several trips to haul the divided pieces of mammoth to our shelter – no complaints at the amount of meat though, I was ravenous. However I had to collapse exhausted after carrying my first load of meat to the cave, Boromir asked if I was alright but I was not sure what to say. I was excited but concerned, it would have been better if it had happened when we were settled.

Finally, as we sat down with mammoth meat (surprisingly delicious, I must say), I announced, confident for all the signs were right, ‘I’m pregnant.’

And so ten months later I lay restlessly beside Boromir, knowing that the pain and sleepless nights had only just begun. But I had a boy and a girl and so the human race had a future.

Chapter II: Of Civilisation and the Cult of Tíristya

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Of Civilisation and the Cult of Tíristya

It was Arelus and Eléa, the Great Grandchildren of the Parents of Mankind, who were the first to migrate to the continent; back then Europe was still connected to England as was Scotland to Ireland. The two travelled far but eventually settled in the east, their settlement would in millennia to come give birth to the founder of the Persian Empire.

In the thirteenth century B.C., after the City States of Greece were founded, Alwé and Boromir moved to live in Athens after despairing at the corruption in wealthy Persia. They saw Greece as a haven of knowledge over gold but they knew that if Greece was to prosper it needed military might and so for the first time Alwé opened the Book of Knowledge to outside eyes.

The Greeks were astonished and their religion grew from their knowledge of the Ainur but many of their tales such as their creation myths and stories of the Gods were twisted to accommodate the Parents’ need for secrecy. Five nobles of great intellect then pledged their allegiance to the Parents and together they became the Cult of Tíristya and hid themselves from society. After aiding in the Trojan War and teaching the Greeks the art of the Phalanx as well as other military techniques, the Cult of Tíristya moved to where arose the Etruscan Civilisation and, after its fall, Rome.

The Cult established places in the Senate and aided in the assassination of corrupt and irresponsible Emperors, notably Caligula, Nero and Gaius Julius Caesar himself. However when Christianity became the dominant religion in the Empire the Cult of Tíristya left the Capital for Britannia and above the cave where Alwé and Boromir had first dwelt they settled and when the Legions vacated the province they raised a great castle and it was named Camelot.

The year after the founding of the castle, Alwé and Boromir travelled to the Highlands of Caledonia where they had heard rumours of orcs but they return satisfied that there was no threat. During their absence they left a Romano-British man named Arthur as King and he fought many wars against the invaders from the across the sea. On the eve of the Parents’ return to Camelot the castle was overrun by Saxons and Arthur slain. The Tíristya fled into hiding and when England became a dominant Kingdom they migrated to the capital and there remained secret until the present day.

It was the Twenty-First Century and it was time.

Chapter III: The End of All Things

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

The End of All Things

‘At six o’clock: Archaeologists have authenticated an ancient manuscript that threatens the existence of religion and the stability of modern civilisation as we know it. Also...’

That was the news began on the afternoon of that revolutionary day. It was the twenty-eighth of June, 2010. The woman rose from the couch and moved into the kitchen, ‘Come on love, its starting.’ She heard the introductory theme begin and sat down again, her husband beside her, holding her in his arm.

‘Good evening and welcome to the BBC News at six.’

And so it told the tale of how two walkers had discovered the Book in a cave under Beacon Hill near Stonehenge in late January, then how it was identical to the novels of the famous author of the 20th Century, J.R.R. Tolkien (The Cult of Tíristya allowed prints of the Book in order to stir up events in preparation of the Great Revelation). Then the News told of how the Book had been certified as a real historic document. By half six the other stories had only been covered in five minutes, but the couple weren’t watching.

Alwé and Boromir stood on the balcony, overlooking the Thames. Not far away were the Houses of Parliament and London Eye. There was a knock on the door, ‘Hold on!’ Alwé shouted before nodding at her husband, ‘ready?’

They rushed to a locked cupboard but today it was open, waiting. ‘We’ve destroyed every religion,’ Alwé said as they pulled out a machine gun each, ‘thus we’ve destabilised countries,’ they checked they were loaded properly, ‘We’re now in more danger than Gordon Brown,’ we moved to the door and targeted the people on the other side, ‘These are either our escorts or our enemies,’ Alwé glanced through the peephole, ‘assassins!’ that said they squeezed the triggers and hell ensued.

When their foes’ corpses lay bloody on the floor outside they wasted no time and rushed to the window and jumped. This leap had been practised for such an occasion and it went as planned, they dived into the river and surfaced in time to clamber aboard a waiting boat which transported them downriver. So began the rest of their lives and it was not promising, new homes, new identities waited and every religious fanatic was after them.

Where they went no tale tells, not even this one.

So ends the writings of Alwé, Dúnedain, and Mother of Mankind.

The End

**Borissomeone** · November 08, 2009, 08:08 PM

The Dagor Dagorath (Sindarin for Battle of Battles or Final Battle) is a fictional battle described in the legendarium of J. R. R. Tolkien. As Tolkien's works were conceived as a fictional "forgotten history" of the world, the Dagor Dagorath represents the coming End of the World, and is often referred to as simply "The End". As Tolkien originally wrote it, The Silmarillion ends with a prophecy by Mandos about the Dagor Dagorath. The published Silmarillion ends instead with the recounting of the voyage of Eärendil the Mariner, but this is due to an editorial decision by Christopher Tolkien. The remaining clue to this prophecy is found at the end of the Akallabêth, where Ar-Pharazôn and his mortal warriors who had set foot on Aman were buried by falling hills, imprisoned in the Caves of the Forgotten until the "Last Battle and Day of Doom". Some see the account as similar to the Nordic legend of Ragnarøk, while others rely on the context of Tolkien's Christian worldview to recognize more consistency with the apocalyptic Battle of Armageddon preceding cosmic renewal.

**Inarus** · November 09, 2009, 03:34 PM

Originally Posted by Maca

Man you get through a lot of FF's, but that's a good thing, and this one is looking very interesting already.

Just to clarify, is this in the fourth age, or will it be a fifth age of sorts?

I was considering but I decided this will define the change between the Fourth and Fifth. I forgot to put the map on, hold on a sec.

THE ABOVE IS FROM PART 3

Originally Posted by Borissomeone

I'm trying to picture this and all I can picture is some guy riding his horse and losing it on a sharp bend...anyway sounds interesting.

The Rohirrim pride themselves on their horse-craft so what should go wrong? The beasts go wild.

The Hobbits daren't go outside of the Shire, so what goes wrong? They leave to mingle with the people they hate.

The Dwarves fearing the Dark?

The Seindorians vacating their homelands?

This is gonna be bad.

VERY BAD

And one million Free Peoples aren't gonna win this.

This needs the dead to be undead.

The Children of the End shall return for the End of All Things.

Chapter 1 coming within the hour.

No guesses yet? Tis pretty obvious.

THE ABOVE IS FROM PART 5

Originally Posted by Borissomeone

Part 1 - short and sweet like a Hobbit.

and Chapter 2?

THE ABOVE IS FROM PART 7

Originally Posted by Borissomeone

I like demons, great start for the dwarfs. Let the Battle begin.

Okay I have decided. No one is guessing so here it is:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

THE ABOVE IS FROM PART 9

Uhhuh? Thanks for the info Borissomeone, just don't post how it ends.

Chapter 3 is out!

The Black Speech translates very roughly as Sha [With]-fli[Sacrifice] Armauk[Enemy] ob [Of] draut[Light] hu-na [Enters] Bot [World] - With sacrifice the Enemy of Light shall enter the world. (Guess who?)

**Adamanek** · November 09, 2009, 04:31 PM

very nice

Looking forward to the next chapter

**Borissomeone** · November 09, 2009, 11:54 PM

Originally Posted by Inarus

Uhhuh? Thanks for the info Borissomeone, just don't post how it ends.

Chapter 3 is out!

The Black Speech translates very roughly as Sha [With]-fli[Sacrifice] Armauk[Enemy] ob [Of] draut[Light] hu-na [Enters] Bot [World] - With sacrifice the Enemy of Light shall enter the world. (Guess who?)

Sorry about that.

**Inarus** · November 10, 2009, 03:25 PM

New part!

This is the picture of the Doors of the Night, I am treating the beasts as those that the Nazgul flew

MUST have answers to the following:

Do I refer to Melkor as Melkor or Morgoth?

WHAT HEROES DO I REINCARNATE? (Apart from those stated by Tolkien).

**Inarus** · November 11, 2009, 10:38 AM

Here follows the ending of Dagor Dagorath that I am writing in "Full Form". I decided that it was okay for me to post this as it is not how the battle shall end. There will be a twist, like a parallel universe where the outcome is far more worse and shall ultimately be Melkor's act of Genocide of not one race but three (at least)

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Damn, among many problems: What on Middle-Earth would the Silmarils be made of? Maybe it won't be revealed in this tale.

MUST have answers to the following:

Do I refer to Melkor as Melkor or Morgoth? (Favouring Melkor currently)

WHAT HEROES DO I REINCARNATE? (Apart from those stated by Tolkien)

**Jaguar6** · November 11, 2009, 04:32 PM

Shouldn't all the heros be reincarnated, an army of heros

**Inarus** · November 11, 2009, 05:18 PM

Originally Posted by Jaguar6

Shouldn't all the heros be reincarnated, an army of heros

yeah but it's hard to write about them all, I can only focus on a few SO WHICH HEROES DO I FOCUS ON CHIEFLY?

Hmmm... what part could Sméagol play in all this? (Sméagol not Gollum (Good not bad))

Ahh Gimli... He will be welcome.

Any favourites guys?

**Maca** · November 11, 2009, 05:53 PM

Well, because I've only actually read the Lord of the Rings, I'd have to say the heroes from that. But I have heard that the heroes from further back (canonologically (sp?)) were more powerful so...

**Inarus** · November 11, 2009, 07:16 PM

Originally Posted by Maca

Well, because I've only actually read the Lord of the Rings, I'd have to say the heroes from that. But I have heard that the heroes from further back (canonologically (sp?)) were more powerful so...

But which of the LotR heroes? I cannot write about them all.

Mmmm yeah I have a problem here. If you have not read the Silmarillion then congratulations, you have sense. I read it not long ago so its slightly fresh in my mind but I guess I should summarise it. Moved to first post.

**Adamanek** · November 12, 2009, 03:16 AM

Are you going to involve Tom Bombadil in the End of the World?

It would be nice to see his superpowers against Balrogs

Thread: Dagor Dagorath - The Completed Tale of how Middle-earth came to its end with the re-emergence of Morgoth Bauglir.

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