AN: Guys...guys we're almost there! This is Hobbit-era, and next chapter we start delving into LOTR material! Incredible!
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Chapter 93: Attack
Year 2941 of the Third Age, Lothlórien
Preparations for the attack on Sauron were long and elaborate. Combining stealth with enough force to actually threaten him was no easy task, even when the stealth required was limited by the distraction they planned for Thranduil.
Olórin, of course, did most of the work. He talked to the current head of the Khazad-dûm line of kings, Thorin, and urged him to prepare to reclaim his homeland. He journeyed to the Lonely mountain himself to ascertain the dangers.
"Are you sacrificing the dwarves for this distraction?" Galadriel asked him, shocked, when he first hinted at his plan.
"I hope not," he replied. "It is not my intention."
"Elrond and I both have realms with armies, and yet we have left the dragon alone for almost two centuries because he would not be so easy to draw out. What do you expect a group of dwarves to do?"
"As with our attack on Sauron, stealth can sometimes do more than brute force."
Galadriel gave him a dubious look. "Stealth? On a dragon?"
"Trust me, my friend," he said with a smile.
"I will endeavour to, but sometimes you truly make it difficult."
His eyes shone with suppressed amusement as he gave her a grave nod of acknowledgement.
Galadriel, for her part, did not need to prepare much, and so her work mostly consisted of organizing the realm in case the fight or the pursuit turned out to take longer than expected. Lothlórien needed to survive that time without her ring to protect them.
It was in the midst of these preparations that Curunír's summons to a session of the White Council arrived.
The moment she saw it, Galadriel was certain he knew what they were planning, and either directly or indirectly, he meant to intervene. She rather expected it would be indirectly – if he revealed their plans to Thranduil, the Council would fall apart, and that would be the end of any power he had through it. But whichever the case, there was nothing left to do but send the Lothlórien representatives to Isengard and see what he had in store.
It turned out to be rather astonishing.
"My friends," he began the meeting, "at the urging of this council, I've spent the last almost century intensely studying Sauron in his current residence. And though it's with a heavy heart that I say it, I must say it: the evil in Dol Guldur can no longer be tolerated. We have to attack."
It was a great advantage of Galadriel only being present in Olórin's mind that she did not have to attempt to remain impassive, and she was free to say any of the many things she wished to say, so long as her friend understood she did not wish for him to repeat it out loud.
Feliel, who now sat on the council in Avorneth's place, had no such advantage, but she also had less self-control.
"What?" She asked. "That's directly contrary to what you said last time!"
"It is," he admitted calmly. "I've studied the matter more deeply, and I've changed my mind."
"You've- this is ridiculous!"
"Don't you believe we should attack, then, my lady?"
Feliel opened her mouth, and closed it again.
Galadriel finally gathered her thoughts enough to know what she wanted to say, and so the silence was broken by Olórin. "The Lady Galadriel says that she's glad that, after long and detailed study, you've arrived to the same conclusion we had some centuries before," he said, keeping the irony soft and subtle just as she intended. "It's reassuring to her to have her views verified independently. But she asks, what does King Thranduil think about such a suggestion? Dol Guldur is in his lands, after all."
Thranduil scowled at Olórin. "If it's a mission that's agreed upon by the whole council," he said pointedly, "then I have no objection."
"I knew I could count on the king's gracious agreement," Curunír said with a slight bow, "especially as, having a young son, he has even more reasons now to wish for his forest to be safe."
Galadriel rather thought that if a king needed to have an adult son to desire safety for his realm, he was not much of a king in the first place, but she refrained from stating that much. "When can we attack, then?" She asked instead, through Olórin. "Surely the sooner, the better."
"Indeed," Curunír agreed. "We can meet in three months at the edges of Mirkwood, if everyone agrees?"
Lord Ciryatan coughed. "That'd hardly give us enough time to go to Grey Havens and back," he said.
"We don't need to," Arminas pointed out before anyone else could say anything. "We aren't taking armies, if I understand the situation correctly – it'll only be the council itself?"
Curunír and Galadriel nodded at the same time, though no one, of course, could see her nod.
"Then," Arminas said, "it'll be better for us, surely, to rest in Lothlórien or Rivendell for a time before we set out on such a task, instead of exhausting ourselves with the journey?"
Lord Ciryatan gave a questioning look to his other companion, and at his assent, agreed to the three months' date.
"You're welcome in Lothlórien if you wish to come there," Celeborn assured him. At Galadriel's soft nudge to his thoughts, as much of one as she was capable at the distance, he added: "In fact, all of us who'll come from the West could gather there, and then we can simply cross the river."
Curunír's mouth twisted, but he did not say anything, merely assented and moved on to the tactical planning.
The key task, clearly, was ensuring Sauron did not escape from their advance. To that end, Olórin repeated Elrond's suggestion of coming in stealth, but it was summarily rejected by Curunír.
"If we must go against such power," he said, "then we go in force, to minimize any risk to us. We use all we have."
"Then he'll run," Erestor pointed out.
"If the worst comes to pass, he'll run and we'll get a century or two of respite, as we did last time Mithrandir chased him out. It's a better option than some of us dying because we're unwilling to use our power."
Galadriel did not exactly agree with that, for she did not believe that Sauron fleeing now would gain them a few centuries of respite – nor did she believe she could well survive that long and be of any use when he returned. She would withstand the wounds on her soul for only so long. But attacking in force did have its advantages, and so she did not voice her objections.
"It's one thinking making peace with the possibility he might flee," Lord Ciryatan said, "but surely we have t o at least attempt a plan that would prevent it?"
And so they did.
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Members of the White Council were slowly gathering in Lothlórien in preparation for the attack.
It was the first time Elrond came there in a very long time, and he took his time to appreciate it in all aspects. He walked among the mellyrn in astonishment, observing their growth and how they comprised most of the forest now. He paid his respects at Cerin Amroth. And he was charmed to meet Birik and Hana and their daughters.
"I've heard much about you from my sons," he told the family as they gathered to dine together and talk at leisure.
"Surely mostly about Tugu?" Birik asked archly.
Elrond smiled. "True," he admitted. "And about Banja from my daughter," he added with a nod to Arwen. He had spent a long time in considering whether to leave her in Rivendell or take her with him. Lothlórien, being near Dol Goldur, was at risk by whatever they did. But remaining in Rivendell would put Arwen outside the protection of a ring for longer as he journeyed south, and if Sauron escaped them, she would be unprotected longer until he returned. In the end, he chose to trust that the combined strength of the Council was enough to stop any darkness that could try and move towards Lothlórien.
"Lady Arwen is too kind," Banja muttered.
Arwen smiled at her. "No," she said. "You're too modest."
"If what my daughter says about your healing is true, she's certainly right," Elrond added. "Your skill is exceptional. I'd be glad to discuss it with you later."
"It'd be an honour, my lord," Banja said in an even lower voice, her embarrassment growing.
Elrond took pity on her and turned to Tugu instead. "You experience in southern and eastern lands of Men," he said, "were often invaluable to my sons, so allow me to thank you for that."
Tugu only smirked. "I'm sure it was fully compensated by the trouble I caused them by my inability to hold my tongue, my lord, so no thanks is necessary."
Elrond raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised to hear such self-recrimination from you."
"Is that not what your sons led you to believe you should expect?" She asked, amused. "Don't worry, they were not wrong – it's not self-recrimination."
"Unfortunately, our daughter is proud of her outspoken nature," Hana commented with a hint of a smile on her face as well.
"It isn't necessarily unfortunate," Elrond pointed out, "though perhaps she should not look for her vocation in diplomacy."
The whole family laughed at the idea, and then Elrond turned the topic again, and began to question them about their lands of origin. Did the dream of their shared journey still linger in his mind, Galadriel wondered, as it lingered in hers?
But the time set for the attack on Sauron was not far now, and they both had to turn their thoughts to different things. They kept mostly to solitude, each lost in their own memories. Galadriel though of her brother the most, and of the oath she had made in Tol Sirion. But almost as much, she thought of Hollin, of the beauty of the realm, of Tyelperinquar and Sarnel and Mírdan, and all the others who had been lost with it. She thought of Artanáro, too. She thought of every drop of blood that could be laid at Sauron's feet.
Just one day before the appointed date, Arwen approached her in her flet.
"May I speak with you, grandmother?" She asked.
"Of course." Galadriel turned to her from her work. "What is it, beloved?"
"It is only that...as you are preparing for the attack, as you are gathering your thoughts and feelings, I...I can sense them, I can sense the desire to avenge your loved ones in you, and...well..." She hesitated, looking to the ground, clearly unsure how to say what she wanted. "You have to fight him with light, do you not?" She asked at length.
Galadriel understood what the problem was immediately. "And you fear that my thoughts will turn to vengeance, and thus to darkness, and I will not defeat him?"
"...yes," Arwen admitted.
Galadriel smiled and gestured to a bench, settling down next to her granddaughter. "Beloved," she said, "do you think Nolofinwë, when he rode out against The Enemy, was thinking of birds and flowers and sweet light of Lady Estë? And yet he struck the Enemy seven times before he fell."
Arwen frowned. "What are you telling me, grandmother?"
"That not all anger is dark. Much depends on the reasons for your anger. If it stems from vanity and pride and bitterness, then yes, your anger will be dark, and you will fall, in the end, like Fëanáro did. But if your anger stems from love and compassion, if it is an outrage at the sins committed against these, and if you do not allow it to consume you wholly and control you...then no, anger is not dark, just as passion is not dark. Lord Oromë is terrible in his anger, I am sure you have heard that from me as well, and you can hardly call him dark."
Arwen was silent for a moment, digesting this. "But do you not need to recall the light to fight with all your strength?" She asked at length.
"Yes, but you can recall light even in anger." Galadriel paused. "I assume your father has taught you some of the basics of healing, and that is where your worry stems from? But is is a different kind of light. When I heal, I cast my mind back to the gardens of Lórien, to Lady Estë, and it comes forth as gentle and nurturing. But when I fight, I cast my mind back to Lady Arien and Lord Oromë, and it comes forth as strong and blinding, and it destroys any darkness in its path. Of course there is ultimately only one source of Light, The One, and He is both gentle and terrible – and so whether I heal or fight, I can always cast my mind back to the Queen of Arda, for the light in her face is both as well..."
Galadriel trailed of, for as she spoke, she did what she described, and was hit by a pang of longing for the West so strong she had to stifle a gasp. O, Elbereth, Star-kindler, she thought silently. We still remember, we who dwell in this far land beneath the trees, your starlight on the Western Seas. Yet she did not allow herself to slip into grief and longing. Her mind was directed differently now, and so she focused on the bright light.
While Galadriel was lost in thought, Arwen considered the matter of their discussion some more. "So when you fight him, you will be thinking of Lady Arien and Lord Oromë and Queen Varda?" She asked.
"Yes," Galadriel replied, coming back to herself, "but I will also be thinking of Laurelin, and I will be thinking of my brother and Sarnel and Tyelperinquar and Mírdan and all the lost people of my realm, and of Artanáro, and all this will make my anger shine brighter." She smiled at Arwen, but it was not a reassuring smile in and of itself. There was something wild about it as some of that anger and light shone through, and Arwen rose from the bench in shock and alarm. "Do not worry about me," Galadriel said simply, in a voice that seemed to echo strangely, and after seeing what she just had, if Arwen had any fears, they were not that her grandmother would be overcome by darkness.
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Olórin finally joined them, abandoning the dwarves in Mirkwood – the wisdom of which Galadriel somewhat doubted, but now was not the time to argue, and besides, she had promised she would trust him – and they gathered for one final attempt at tactical planning.
"Thranduil, his people and Radagast will cover the northern side," he repeated the most essential part of the strategy planned in Isengard months ago. Thranduil had refused to let anyone else share that responsibility with him. "It falls to us to divide the rest between ourselves."
Galadriel frowned. "Curunír will take south, will he not?"
"I believe so, yes."
"He is strong enough – he barely needs reinforcements. Perhaps Feliel and Arminas could go with him?"
They both nodded their assent, and Elrond and Galadriel exchanged a look. What came next, they knew, was the crucial question.
How to divide forces between East and West?
East, they all knew, was the direction Sauron was most likely to flee towards. It stood to reason the strongest guard should be there.
But West was where Lothlórien was – where Arwen would be.
And if the way East was blocked, they both knew Sauron would turn West to try and take his revenge.
And Galadriel knew what the right choice for the good of the world was, she knew it clearly, but suddenly she simply could not. She thought of Celebrían's shadowed eyes, of her hollow voice, and she could not.
"I, Celeborn and Elrond will take West," she said.
"And Glorfindel," Elrond finished for her.
She hesitated for the slightest moment – was this not too much, she wondered, was she not being too selfish, was it not too- but then she saw Elrond's eyes and simply confirmed: "And Lord Glorfindel, yes."
No one dared object. "That leaves me, Lord Círdan, Galdor and Erestor in the East, am I correct?" Olórin simply asked, and there were nods all around.
This was wrong, Galadriel knew. This was entirely unequal. But still, she could not make herself do anything.
"Remember that there is no way to make completely certain he will not run," Olórin said after a short silence during which, she was convinced, they had all been thinking the same. "There are too many escapes from Dol Guldur, especially for a spirit. We cannot surround him properly."
"Then I ask again, what hope does this attack have?" Erestor spoke rather louder than was usual for him, frustrated. Galadriel thought he might be a little worried, too. He was not a fighter by nature, after all, and he would be separated from his husband by this division of forces, and stationed at the most dangerous side. "We know from your first journey there that Sauron has learned from his mistake in the Last Alliance, and now runs when he is at a disadvantage."
"At the very least, we will destroy all the dark creatures that dwell there," Elrond pointed out.
That seemed like pitiful enough result to Galadriel. "We have to do out best," she said with conviction. "Make sure you seal every corridor and every tunnel you notice, every escape route. We have Thranduil's old plans of Amon Lanc. They might be of some use, as much as I am sure Sauron changed the residence to suit his needs. Mirhrandir told us what he knows from his two journeys there. We are not entirely without an idea about his escape routes. We have to do our best to stop him."
Olórin gave her an intent look. You know, my friend, that that hope might have well been dashed by your division of forces, he said in her mind. There was no blame in his tone, merely statement of fact.
What can I do? What should I do? She asked him, fighting to not let despair touch her, for she could not afford it now.
He shook his head minutely. Believing Arwen was in danger would only harm your efforts more, he said. You need all of your mind, as does Elrond. There is nothing to be done. We all simply have to know there is a good chance that Sauron will escape.
Galadriel could not accept that so blithely, but there truly was nothing else to be done, and so they rode.
They met with Curunír at the borders of Mirkwood, and he accepted the company of Feliel and Arminas as he headed south. Olórin and his group departed alongside him, to continue further on to be able to approach from the East.
The western group, meanwhile, waited.
"I should have left Arwen in Rivendell," Elrond said after a moment, unable to bear the silence.
"She would have still been to the West," Galadriel pointed out something they had discussed before, "and, as Mithrandir reminded me, worry for her would have taken your mind from the fight. Every little thing might turn out to matter."
Elrond sighed. "Perhaps." He paused, pacing for a moment. "There is more than one reason I am unsettled about this," he added then. "I still believe the original plan of using stealth was the better one."
Galadriel shrugged. "It had its merits, but this has different ones, and you know there was no chance of convincing Curunír that stealth was the correct approach."
"I have to say I agree with him in this instance," Lord Laurefindil interjected. "I hesitated to voice that in the Council, as I dislike agreeing with him on principle, and Erestor, of course, if of Elrond's mind, but...to be at our full strength, we need the Light of the West, and that, as you know, is hardly compatible with stealth."
"Yes, but that holds true for only the two of us and Arminas," she pointed out.
Lord Laurefindil shook his head. "Elrond, too, can reach the light, and so can Feliel and your husband to a lesser degree."
"To very much lesser," Celeborn muttered. "I would not pit my ability to recall of some Queen Melian's light against any other strategic advantage."
"Nor would I," Elrond agreed, "as you know. But it is too late to change the tactics now."
Indeed, it was – in another few hours, the agreed upon sign came, and the attack began.
The four elves entered the forest, and once they did, they changed.
Where there had been only a small group of elves, there now marched figures of blazing light, and two were brightest and chiefest among them, both fair and golden-haired. "Ride at speed!" Galadriel cried, and her horse darted forwards, Lord Laurefindil at her side, their light shining almost as bright as Lady Arien herself. Here in this forest where sun had not shone for centuries, they were blinding, overwhelming. The dark creatures that crawled the land fell away from their path, destroyed or paralysed by the blazing glory, and those that survived were then felled by the swords of those who rode behind.
They seared their way to the fortress like an avalanche coming from the river valley, and the creatures defending the walls withered and died upon meeting them as well, standing no chance against the onslaught of power that was brought to bear against them. But but when the elves of light arrived to the central courtyard and met the other members of the Council, there was suddenly nothing more to turn their anger on. All was quiet around them. They stopped.
"He is still here," Galadriel said, feeling Sauron's mind.
"There are many escapes from the dungeons of this palace," Olórin repeated.
"There were many while we still dwelt here," Thranduil agreed, "and I wouldn't be surprised if he made even more."
"We enter one, he might flee through another," Curunír added. "It's fruitless. We have no way to lure him out, and no way to corner him."
There were murmurs of agreement from some. "So we should be content with slaying his beasts?" One of Thranduil's people asked.
"Not until we have exhausted all other options," Galadriel argued. "We have to try."
Curunír was reluctant, but this time, it seemed, not even his honeyed voice could compete with the desire to be rid of the evil once and for all – or, perhaps, with the blazing light of Galadriel that still lingered after their attack.
Whatever the cause, the Council took to exploring the tunnels, each going in from a different side, and yet wherever they went, Sauron was still present just beyond their reach, just enough to tease them, there but impossible to find.
They spent hours searching before they met again in the central courtyard and Olórin said: "It is time to face it: we will not find him. We have to accept that."
"No," Galadriel only said, and her voice was like a bell.
She stepped into the middle of the courtyard, and now her mind was not on Aman or any of those for whom she wanted to revenge herself on Sauron, but on her beloved uncle only, and the memory resonating clearly in her mind as the light blazed from her, she called: "Come! You have wanted your revenge on me for cursing you – come, then, and strike the final blow! Cast me down! I challenge you! You have been killed by a Man before you reached me in the last battle, pitiful as you are, but now I am here waiting for you! Or are you a craven? Come, lord of slaves, and face me...come and be destroyed!"
And as she called, her light poured out of her and crawled into every little hole, every little crevice of the fortress, destroying anything of darkness that remained.
So wise and yet so foolish, Sauron answered to her mind, only for her to hear, like a snake whispering in her ear. I am not my old master, and I have already been wounded by one of your family. I have no interest in repeating it.
And then he fled.
Galadriel collapsed to the ground, closing her eyes. She was drained, completely void of any power, empty as a well run dry. She needed to get back to Lothlórien like she needed to breathe – it was a necessity and a burning desire.
But there were a few more things to arrange before that.
When she opened her eyes again, she looked up the others and saw astonishment. "Yes, he fled," she said, tired. "There were no captains he would have to impress left here..."
She looked closer at their faces. Lord Laurefindil and Olórin seemed slightly amused for some reason, Elrond was smiling softly, and Thranduil seemed angry. And Curunír, while angry, also looked distinctly calculating. In this moment, Galadriel saw with certainty that at least one of the reasons he had agreed to the attack in the end was to see how strong the members of the Council were.
"Yes, in spite of your very impressive posturing," he sneered in response to what she had said. "I had thought you had a better plan, otherwise I would have interfered myself."
Galadriel did not dignify that with a response. "We need to track him down," she pointed out, struggling to sit up. "My friend, are you willing?" She asked Olórin, turning to him as Celeborn came to support her.
"Certainly," Olórin replied. "I hope, however, that you will allow me to accompany you to Lothlórien first for a period of rest."
"By all means."
"This is all very fine," Curunír said in a cold voice, "but if I remember correctly, I am the head of the council and therefore it falls to me to decide what to do."
Galadriel ignored him once more as she bid her farewell to all the others and, accompanied by her, Lord Ciryatan's and Elrond's people, and Celeborn and Olórin helping her stand and mount her horse, she headed back home.
Once they crossed the Great River and were again in her forest, she spoke. "Curunír is planning something," she said.
"He was testing our strength, wasn't he?" Elrond asked.
"Yes." Galadriel had been considering the matter on their wey there, as much as she was able in her drained state. Now that she was back in Lothlórien, even with none of her power left to uphold the borders, her thoughts were clearer and she could put them into words. "I believe he has some plans he knows we wouldn't approve of, so much so that we might actually try to stop him, and is wondering if we'd be successful."
"He does not worry me too much," Celeborn commented. "What I wonder about more is why exactly Sauron waited so long to flee."
"Perhaps for the same reason?" Olórin suggested.
The moment he said it, Galadriel was certain it was the truth. "Yes," she said. "He knew he was in no real danger because he could always flee, and so he waited and watched us. We have to be vigilant, because if he returns again, he'll try very hard to destroy us."
"Especially you and Glorfindel," Elrond pointed out, smiling. "It's been long since the War of Wrath, I've almost forgotten..."
Celeborn smiled at her. "A dangerous mistake," he said, "to forget how formidable my wife is."
Galadriel returned a tired smile, even though she hardly felt like smiling. It was a trap, set both by Sauron and by Curunír, and she had fallen directly into it. But there would be enough time for self-recrimination when she was less weak. "What to do about Curunír?" She asked.
"It'd be best to find out his plans," Olórin said. "I'll do what I can on that front, but I believe tracking Gorthaur takes priority."
"Certainly," Galadriel agreed. "Fro one, he is more powerful, and for another...well, I still I hope that what Curunír plans is nothing too terrible. I wonder what could have been his purpose in trying to prevent the attack on Dol Guldur, and if it is somewhat related. He can hardly wish for Sauron's return to full strength, after all."
"I'd suggest he knew Sauron would only flee again and so it was fruitless," Elrond mused, "but then he never used this argument in the Council."
"He might've been studying something related to Dol Guldur," Celeborn said. "We know he's a great student of Gorthaur, and perhaps his presence allowed Curunír to discover what he could not before."
"But why not admit the truth, then?" Elrond frowned.
"And if his studies included crossing a line he knew we would not support? What if he did some sorts of research, or experiments, that would seem dark to us, perhaps as dark as some of Gorthaur's work?"
Galadriel inhaled sharply. "I believe you may well be right, beloved," she said. "And that gives me a little more fear about what he intends now...We put our trust in you, my friend," she added, turning to Olórin.
"I will endeavour not to fail it, then," he replied.