Chapter Forty-One
For days and nights, Estela mourned. Ereinion was by her side every step of the way.
She mourned the loss of her brother in heart. Of his wife. And of the little girl that would never grow to live a life of her own. She mourned a wound she knew would never heal. It was the icing on the cake as some would say. It was too much.
No one yet knew that Celebrimbor, secretly, still lived- well, if one called that living. All they believed was that he had died under torture, and that his remains and those of his wife and child, had been impaled with arrows and used as trophies by Sauron.
The very thought made Ereinion shake with loathing and rage.
Even as she pulled herself back together, reminding herself that she still had a daughter at home, Estela knew something had to be done. No one told her what happened to Celebrimbor's body, or Silmiel's or Eleniel's. They judged it cruel and unwise.
But Estela made her way to Khazad-dûm or Moria, to meet with Durin III, King of the Dwarves.
The dwarf king rose from his throne and greeted the mourning Estela, dressed all in black, sombre garb, but with a rich braided girdle and a similar trim and jewellery made of onyx, jet and black pearl, as not to offend the Dwarven hosts. A black veil was cast over her hair to signify mourning and drawn over her face.
She curtsied lower than was necessary to Durin III- a fact that not all elves would be pleased about, if they didn't understand.
"Welcome, good Queen," Durin said. "Although I would wish to Mahal that we could welcome you under better days than this."
Estela nodded, and cast her veil back. "My good king, I thank you so sincerely from the bottom of my heart, for your and your warrior's involvement in trying to aid the brother of my heart, Celebrimbor."
"Peace." The dwarf waved the thanks aside. "I was only too glad to do it. Your cousin was a king amongst the creatures of Arda- ever had he dealt so graciously and warmly with us. Never had a friendship between our two races occurred such as this. I only wish I had succeeded and brought him and his family to safety before the cursed Sauron swept in."
Estela let out a sigh. "There was nothing you can do about him. Would I had at least been there, for the brother of my heart," She clutched her middle as grief threatened to rip her to shreds and bring her down.
Thoughtfully, Durin invited her to another hall, where she sat. A goblet of warm mead was given to her.
"So Sauron has taken him," Durin said darkly. "Whatever for? Vengeance?"
"My dreams have warned me," Estela whispered. "I do not believe it is mere vengeance, but Sauron used Celebrimbor. He wants a way to control the Rings of Power."
Durin's eyes widened. "You mean this?" He pulled off a ring from his hand.
Estela's eyes widened as she studied it. It was gold with a gem, similar to a ruby, set within it. The handiwork, she recognized as her cousin's.
"Yes, that is my cousin's work!" She gasped. "Did… Who gave it to you? I was certain he kept it hidden!"
Durin's eyes darkened. "It was an emissary of your cousin's- or so I believed. This elf was fair in form, yet he seemed so much more."
"Annatar," Estela whispered. "A guise of Sauron's."
Durin groaned and covered his face with his hand.
Estela touched his shoulder. "It is not your fault," she said quietly. "You could not have known. What I fear is what Sauron would do next. He can lie in wait like a predator, but he will never rest until all of Middle-Earth is his, and its people are all enslaved or annihilated. He needs neither food, nor rest, and every minute, more orcs come into his service, and he arms and readies them for battle. The forges of Mordor never rest, never put out its flames. Always do the forges of Barad-dûr light to put iron in the hands of orcs and trolls. Always in that barren wasteland, riddled with dry ash and poison, do the flames burn, and the orcs ready themselves for war."
Durin was silent.
Estela sighed. "I know not what comes next, but Sauron never sleeps. Always does he look for a way to gain strength in Middle-Earth. Númenor is gone because of him. And now I fear that he will take all. He did not hesitate to attack Minas Anor, nor Eregion. He does not care about sacrificing his own minions to get what he wants. And he has killed both our kin. He wants all." And as Durin absorbed this in silence, Estela thanked him for his hospitality and kindness and left.
Of course they had no idea, by now, Sauron's master plan had come into fruition.
And they had no idea what happened to Celebrimbor in actual truth.
Yes, they used his body as a banner. But was he truly gone? Little did they know, a ghostly wraith watched nearby with non-existent tears choking his soul and absent heart.
Silmiel and Fëarillië Eleniel, the little known wife and daughter to Celebrimbor, grandson of Feanor, Maker of the Rings of Power and Greatest Smith of the Second Age, were both dead. Sauron had forced Celebrimbor to watch as he struck them down.
And soon the War for Middle-Earth would begin.
Estela took a deep breath as she fingered the pendant given to her by Ereinion as a wedding gift. She never went without it now, even wearing it under her armour.
She sighed.
Celebrimbor's life was gone. Although she did not think anyone could ever get a hold of themselves after suffering such a loss as this, she managed to do so, and despite her grief, she went on and pulled through, doing her duty, and preparing the Lindon Elves for war when it came.
It was sad, she had done that many times before, and was forced to do this again. But this would be the last time.
She had no intention of suffering such a loss again, and she watched the warriors strike blows at one another. They were all quiet and bowed their heads respectfully, not looking into her eyes, whenever they sensed her presence. They did not need to. She could go on.
She had no choice.
Estela drew her sword. She was in her training clothes.
The sharp blade glinted and sparkled in the light.
"I'm ready," she whispered. "Please grant me this one wish, at least. Or two. After all I've done, do not let me outlive more of the people I love. Let my child be safe and live. Please. If not for me, then for the innocent children of Middle-Earth at least."
She had no idea they were listening to her prayer.
Up ahead the Valar saw all.
Manwë always saw better with Varda beside him. And Varda always heard better when they were together.
And so the Valar watched high up on Taniquetil, through the clouds and the gazes of the birds and the stars as Estela, the last scion- apart from her daughter, and secretly her son- of a proud warrior House (perhaps too proud at times), readied herself.
"Now comes the final test," Námo Lord of Mandos announced. "Now comes the test which decides the fate of the House of Fëanáro, son of Finwë and all their descendants. One that will decide the fate of the world, at the ending of all days. Now must she prepare herself, for fate which comes and dictates the lives of all who live and breathe in Arda.
"For she must choose. Does she have strength enough, for change?"
"Surely there has been change enough," Nienna exclaimed. "Surely she has proven herself? Surely we know her not to fail?"
"Maybe. But she must take the final step."
"And so it has begun," Manwë intoned. "The beginning of the end."
And the Valar observed solemnly with heavy hearts as the Children of Eru, prepared themselves for war against a terrible foe bent on ripping them to shreds.
Estela watched her sword silently for a while, the moonlight gleaming on the blade, reflecting off it and making it shine. Her life began in the night. Despite what people said about darkness and night being things of evil, they were wrong. Melkor never managed to subdue and capture Tilion who guided the moon. The elves had been awakened in Cuiviénen, by starlight which they loved the best. Estela herself had been born in the light of Telperion, shining as it had never before, as if speaking of a promise.
And now by the light of the moon, will Estela's and her daughter's destiny be decided.
It was the future. And Estela would not shy from it, the way others did.
Estela still mourned the loss of her bond-brother, but she had to go on. Somehow she sensed, all will be well soon, although she also sensed that the power of darkness would seek to consume all she loved.
Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. How did she sense these things? She and Teleprinquar- she would always remember his by that- had always been close. Even before Melkor's release on Valinor, and during the events that followed, both losing all, they had grown even closer.
Somehow, Estela would have peace. But even though she sought it throughout her torturous long life, she would reject it, never making peace unless all was right.
Perhaps it was that courage that endeared her to the Valar.
That night the stars shone bright, as if remembering Telperion's light.
Estela came to her daughter's nursery. She found her playing on the floor, and knelt, gathering the little girl to hold her close, and kissed her.
"Ammë," the little girl whispered. Estela held her and kissed her again, as if to spill onto her all the love and courage she had. She would need it. She knew she would.
"I love you, melda seldë." She whispered. "Forever and always. I'll love and protect you."
She hoped she would keep that promise.
She found Ereinion in the council room, with all the other councillors shut out, except for Elrond and Glorfindel.
"Now we begin. Now is the time we gather all our allies, and summon all the strength that we have, for the battle against Sauron. For at this moment, war is sure to come. And we must either stand together, or fall apart."
Estela regarded her husband solemnly.
"In that case," she came forwards, looking at the map. "We must first warn the Wood-Elves and the peoples of Gondor and Arnor. The various Northmen must come next. But we need to know where Sauron will strike."
"Arnor," Elrond said grimly. "He has failed in his attack in Gondor, he would commence to Arnor."
"I believe so," Glorfindel said.
"Then to Arnor we must send warning," Ereinion said.
Minas Ithil….
Isildur son of Elendil watched on the parapets and ramparts of the high walls of the city he built called Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon. It was well-constructed this place, built out of white marble, so much so that when the moon's glow fell upon them, the courtyards and the streets glowed and gleamed with silver light, as did the buildings.
Isildur's eyes narrowed as he beheld the landscape around the city.
He heard nothing. He saw nothing (obviously it was night!), and yet he felt something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.
He turned to the guard-captain. "Alert the guards. Light more torches. Something is not right." The captain bowed and said, "Yes, sir," before leaving.
Isildur turned back to where he gazed. He frowned. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. There was nothing to be afraid of. In any case, why is this night different from all the rest he had had in this city?
Just as he was turning away, however, an arrow launched out of nowhere and embedded itself squarely into a guard's chest. The man gasped and fell backwards. Right on que, more arrows came, Isildur cursed as he ducked for cover, and the guards beside him raised their shields to protect them from the onslaught.
"Sound the alarm!" Isildur's bellow sounded.
A bell tolled, and somewhere, a woman screamed.
Soon, a grappling hook appeared out of nowhere and attached itself onto the crenellations of the parapets. It was a grim and forbidding spider made out of black iron attached to a rope. Isildur hurried forwards and looked down.
Sure enough it was an orc at the end. He cursed and cut it. "Orcs!" He shouted. "We're under attack!" The men shouted warnings and the bell tolled louder.
More grappling hooks came.
And verily, did Isildur curse Sauron, though he and his wife and children managed to get themselves to safety.
Galadriel's blue eyes shone. "Sauron has attacked the city of Isildur, son of Elendil," she said gravely.
The mirror, swirling in the silver basin, did not show promising images.
"What can be done?" Celeborn sounded grim. "Is he still alive?"
"Yes, along with his wife and sons." Galadriel answered. "And most of the city has fled. Isildur is clever."
She was referring to the city's hidden passageways. But now the city was taken.
Isildur however, had managed to take a seedling from the White Tree which he planted there.
"Now we must warn Gil-Galad." Celeborn said. "Before the next move comes. When will he strike next?"
"Sauron will not strike yet." Galadriel paused. "However, we cannot wait."
Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor and his sons, Isildur and Anárion, their wives and children welcomed the High King Gil-Galad and his wife officially in Minas Anor.
Once again they met, but this time, it was even more serious. This time was the survival of Middle-Earth.
The people of the city watched in awe, and countless jaws had dropped when the High Elven King and his Queen rode into the city in full ceremony, flanked by their warriors. Elves were still the stuff of fairy-tale and legend to them, and few had ever thought they would ever glimpse one.
Much less the High King and Queen. But as Gil-Galad's banners flew and fluttered high in the breeze, Estela had a bad, bad feeling that something had yet occur. And many hopes would be dashed.
Forcefully, she pushed it aside. Now was not the time. She dismounted and was greeted. Dressed in the full regalia of the High King's wife, Estela somehow managed to dress in fabrics and ornaments that drew attention, but were not cumbersome. No wonder Ereinion dislikes such ceremonies, she thought moodily.
Elendil and his wife greeted her. She smiled and gave the customary greetings, but what Estela really wanted was to get on with it.
After- thankfully- as minimal an amount of ceremonies as possible, they were able to meet in private.
"So, Sauron attacks Arnor and Minas Ithil," Ereinion said grimly. "Previously he has tried to attack this city- and failed. He is cunning, and worse than the most treacherous being. Very soon he will strike again, I fear. We must do so before he does."
"I agree," Elendil said. And Estela noted what kingship had done to him. He looked as strong, imposing and regal as ever, but there were lines around his eyes and mouth, and grey in his hair and beard.
It was the stress, worry and burden of ruling, she thought. She had seen it in Tar-Palantir. She wasn't a fool. Ruling made kings of men age prematurely. At least he looked strong and healthy.
"Sauron will want to strike somewhere where we will not be able to aid one another," Ereinion said. "He will want to catch us unawares. He learns from every mistake he has made. And the mistakes of his master, Morgoth. He is not one to repeat them."
"But when and where shall we strike then?" Elendil asked. "And forgive me, for although I am far from ungrateful, I do not think all the elves in Lindon's realms and Rivendell, along with all the warriors of Gondor and Arnor will be enough to fight Sauron. As it was, we barely made it last time."
"Yes," Ereinion said. "Which is why we will need more alliances." Elendil stopped and stared.
"An alliance," Ereinion said quietly. "An alliance between the Elves, Humans and Dwarves of Middle-Earth. Between all the Free Peoples of this land who do not lie under the subjugating strength of Sauron. A Last Alliance- for all hope, after this, we shall have peace. Never before has all the banners in Middle-Earth united into one to fight a common foe. And never again shall it be so, if we will succeed and Sauron fail."
"Yes," Elendil breathed. "Yes, let it be so. A Last Alliance between the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. Whereupon the evil that plague this world shall be no more!" And whereupon the Last Alliance was born.
Word was sent out to every corner of Middle-Earth that stood free. The Northmen of the Rhovanion and those who lived near Greenwood the Great and bore relations to the Dúnedain, answered the call. The men who were hardened and strong from the harsh winters that ripped through their lands. The Men known as the Éothéod, who would one day be known as the Lords of Rohan, the Rohirrim, answered the call, the golden-haired lords who mastered their horses in the way few men ever did.
The dwarves of the Long-beard clan under Durin III, friend and steadfast ally to Celebrimbor answered the call, the great master smiths and warriors, who were notoriously tough and hardy, resistant to pain and weariness. They wanted vengeance for the kin slaughtered under Sauron, and for Celebrimbor their friend and ally. The Elves of Imladris under Elrond's guidance came to them, and pledged their support. And after much heated debate and argument, the elves of Lothlórien and Greenwood came as well, although many feared the onslaught, they knew they would fall if Sauron gained enough strength and victories, and could never under any circumstances, stand alone in a fight against Mordor.
The cities of Gondor and Arnor, and Lindon prepared themselves. The sound of hammering and fires burned in the forges. The horses were constantly examined and looked-after. More and more volunteers joined to become soldiers and the courtyards, streets and even gardens, peaceful places as they once were, rang with the sound of swords, spears, arrows flying from bows, daggers and knives. Shields were tested. Armour was fitted. Supplies were gathered and counted. War was in the air.
Everyone said prayers, and prayed very hard. To Eru All-Father, to the Valar and the Ainur still remaining in the Timeless Halls. All prayed desperately for victory against evil.
Is this the life I want? Estela wondered. Did she become a shieldmaiden to survive, to redeem the names of her kin, to save others, or because she wanted to? Of course she would never think of sitting down and twiddle her thumbs while others fought the battle to save all Middle-Earth, but did she feel inclined to this sort of life? Adventure and hardship? Triumph? The swing of a sword, the speed of a horse?
In Valinor, she had been the happiest child. She never wanted for anything, because she thought that life would never end. But then it did. She lost her home and her family, one by one, while their name was ruined. She was only desperate to keep them safe. And her husband and children. But anything else?
Destiny and fate had more of a hand in her life, than she did.
Her mind wondered back to Vorondo, and the promise he had made to her.
And then to her friends, Elendil and his family.
Estela had woven a banner- a jet black silk one, with silvery-white threads stitched to form seven stars under which grew the White Tree of Gondor. She gave it to them.
"My mother named me Hope." She said. "And so I gave hope to the Eldar. But I have kept none for myself. Somehow, I know, that sometime, you and your kin will know of such a sacrifice, for your own people."
Estela wove another banner. This one with especial meticulous care, and love. The banner of Gil-Galad. The High King. A field of stars in royal blue. Like a star-covered sky. Just for him, she had woven with such overflowing love and care, like she had never demonstrated on her other weavings. But the Free Peoples would see this banner, and they would have hope, and be strengthened, harkened to fight and win victorious battles against the forces of Mordor.
She gave it to Ereinion in secret, emotion threatening to overflow and bring them down, as she passed it to him.
"For you, my love," she whispered. "So all may have hope. My mother named me hope, but if there is any of that left within me, I give it to you, my heart and only love."
And somehow, it felt like a warning of a farewell.
Ereinion had looked at her, and instantly kissed her. He held her, knowing that they might not have many opportunities for this in the days ahead.
The sons of Isildur and Anárion watched wide-eyed as their fathers clashed swords in practice.
Anárion gritted his teeth and hammered his sword against his brother. A grinning Isildur blocked his blow and smashed his sword against his brother's only to be blocked with strength. The two sought other ways to best the other.
Again they tried. The sons of Elendil were evenly matched. Estela watched from the shadows. She mused to herself that the brothers were so wise and experienced, knowing the pain of war and grief, and yet could find light in this small thing.
Again, her mind wandered. To the day she saw Findekáno sparring with her father. It was just like that.
How they had laughed with bright joy. Her father never laughed after her mother had died.
And she did not see him laugh the last time she set her eyes on him.
Estela shook herself out of her thoughts when the match was over. She couldn't remember which brother won, but the victor laughed, and so did the other.
"Bested me, huh?" She heard one of them ask.
"Perhaps you would have, if you had been paying attention to-" she lost track of the playful banter.
Estela stepped forwards. The two stopped and stared, while the children and guardsmen gasped and gaped.
Estela smiled. "Good morning. I hope I wasn't intruding. I merely wished to see you spar."
Isildur recovered himself. "Not at all, my lady. You are welcome here any time."
Estela gave a smile but it was strained. "My lady," Anárion said quietly. "We are sorry for the loss of your great cousin."
Estela sighed. "Greatness. My cousin. I loved him as a brother. To me, he was my brother. And yet, we never had the freedom of Men."
"Ar-Pharazôn was a fool to take it for granted," Isildur said quietly. Just by looking at her, and hearing her tale long before they met, he could easily tell that immortality was not always a blessing for her. Far from it.
"Pride blinds all," Estela responded. "That is something I have learnt. Whether they be Men, Elves or Dwarves."
Isildur and Anárion nodded. "And these are your children?" Estela asked, smiling at the tiny humans staring with eyes as massive as a banquet's platters.
"Yes," Anárion said. He gestured at them. "These are Elendur, Aratan and Ciryon, my brother's sons and Auron, Náretar, Melehton and Meneldil, my sons." Estela smiled warmly at the eight boys whose faces reddened.
"No daughters, though?" She asked.
Isildur flushed. "None, my lady, though my wife prays every night for at least one, and I wouldn't be adverse to it either. She expects another child soon."
"I pray that this one would live long and happily," Estela said sincerely, and Isildur smiled.
Estela chuckled. Then her eyes fell onto the youngest son of Anárion. Meneldil. Yes, that was his name. He was twelve years old. That meant that he was born one year before Númenor fell. What was it like she wondered, to know that one had been born in a place and had a home apart from this that one would never see.
All because of Ar-Pharazôn's pride, greed and ambition.
She smiled, sadly this time. At least he would never grow to miss it- but he may yearn to look at it.
Of course she did not, and would never question the Will of the All-Father, of course. Never in a million years.
Never, ever again. Not the Valar, and certainly by far, not the All-Father.
"May I spar, also?" Estela asked teasingly. Anárion raised his eyebrows. "Why not?" He asked. He turned to his brother, a smile on his face.
Isildur shrugged. "Shall I be your sparring partner?" He asked. He grinned sheepishly. "I admit, I've heard tales of your fighting. And I've never fought a shieldmaiden before."
Estela inclined her head.
She and Isildur took their places.
Estela breathed deeply, but silently. She held herself steady, and did not twitch. She waited for him to make the first move. It was one of the things her father taught her. If a trained swordsperson waited for their opponent to make their first move, then he or she would be able to guess the opponent's style of fighting, and the way their mind works. As it was she waited for Isildur to make his move.
And he did. He charged, Estela moved slightly and blocked it.
When he struck again, Estela was expecting it. She blocked it.
The two clashed swords.
Although the art of war can never be called beautiful, there is a willowy elegance and liquid grace in the way they moved, especially in Estela. Something breath-taking, and otherworldly. An ethereal grace that seemed to emit light.
Isildur attempted to strike at her very heart, but Estela deflected his blow, and pushed it away, spinning to the side. Every time he struck, she blocked and deflected. Once he struck to her right, and she spun to the right, and came at him with a swing, not a series of strikes, and Isildur was by now already hard-pressed and desperate- panicking in fact, his eyes wide.
Estela defeated Isildur, alright. And he dropped his sword, shocked and astonished.
She lowered her blade. "Don't worry, it does not mean your skill is lacking."
"Although I may disagree," Isildur said quietly, breathless. "Your skill is unmatched. And I have much to learn in comparison to you. Who was it that taught you, my lady?"
Estela's face fell. "My father." She said quietly. "Although he never allowed me to wield a sword outside of practice."
"Ah." Isildur said. "Forgive me, once again I have been careless with my words."
Estela smiled slightly. "It is no wrong of yours." She sheathed her blade. "Though usually I wield two blades not one."
Isildur was about to enquire further, when Anárion and the children who had watched them utterly breathless and in a shocked awe, stood and cheered. "Breath-taking." Anárion whispered. "Astounding! I have never seen such a fight."
Estela smiled. How she was reminded of that day she saw her father and Findekáno fight. But it was no use dwelling on that.
"I am glad you enjoyed it." She smiled. "Your brother is quite a foe to meet in the battlefield. No wonder the orcs are terrified." Anárion grinned.
"Perhaps you would care to practice again, with my husband as well, when we are able?" She asked. Isildur nodded. "It would be a tremendous honour, my lady." She smiled warmly at the brothers and their offspring.
Later, she met her husband in their suite. "What is it?" She asked. He gave a pained smile, his eyes shimmering with a powerful emotion.
"A letter from Vanimelda," he said quietly. "She says she misses us, and sends us both a great deal of love and a painting. I miss her too, far too painfully."
Estela sighed. She looked away. "For an immortal it seems as if I am always running out of time to spend with the ones I love. I wonder if anything will ever be set right."
"What makes you say it won't?" Ereinion asked.
Estela sighed. "Perhaps you're right."
She sat and paused for a while. "What do you think of the sons of Elendil?" She asked.
He looked startled at this question.
"I think they are great and honourable men." Ereinion said quietly. "Although part of that reason is that because they have done so much for their peoples and for others, yet seek little glory and reward for themselves."
"Yes." Estela paused. "Just what I thought. They ask for so little, yet give so much. It astounds me. They are completely unlike the ones Sauron has corrupted."
Her husband gave a wry smile. "Isn't that why they've succeeded after all this time?"
She paused again. "Do you think that they miss Númenor?"
Ereinion was silent. "I think they missed what Númenor used to be, and mourned its loss," he said quietly. "But I think in the end, that they said goodbye to Númenor a long time ago. What their former home was in the end, was not what it once was. And therefore they could not count the land Ar-Pharazôn ruled as their home."
Estela absorbed this in silence.
If only it were so easy for her. And yet, she wondered, if she could return to Valinor and all that they fought for succeeded, would it still be the same? Or would some wounds go too deep for healing, and scars run too wide to be unnoticed?
Ereinion seemed to sense her thoughts and touched her hand. He drew them closer together and held her tightly, as if he would never let her go. At least she had them, but if time taught her something, especially with Celebrimbor's loss that so recently occurred, it was that every minute was more precious than mithril and the Silmarils her grandfather fought so hard to regain.
"And now, we come to this," the High King announced.
Estela watched solemnly as her husband made his address.
"For this past year, Sauron has made three attacks. He has attacked Minas Anor which has failed. But success comes to him in the form of dark victories over Eregion and Minas Ithil. Now, he seeks another victory, and soon more, to add to his hoard of mass-graves and broken cities." Ereinion intoned.
"He does not move against one particular person, but all. For few knows where he will strike, and fewer what schemes he holds in his thrall. And for such, all the more dangerous is he, who takes the name of Dark Lord of all the earth and seeks to conquer in success where Morgoth has failed."
Everyone looked grim or sick with the notion of this.
"Alas, great king," a voice echoed somewhere nearby. Everyone's eyes turned to Durin III, King of the Longbeard clan and Khazad-dûm.
"For hearing this, I must bring you all gravest and most terrible news that breaks the hearts of my people, of another victory of Sauron's."
Everyone muttered and whispered fearfully amongst themselves. Shaking their heads, many paled and looked sick, wondering what was coming next.
"Sauron has invaded and taken the Mountain of Gundabad."
Gasps echoes throughout the room. "What?" Estela hissed, hands clenching the arms of her chair. "The sacred mountain of your people? The mountain in which Durin, your forefather and namesake awoke?"
"Alas, my lady," grieved Durin. "Yes. The very same. Would my creator strike me down, and banish me from my forefather's halls for the shame I have had to endure, to see the sacred mountain, defiled and in the hands of our great Enemy!" He wept. "For not even Morgoth had done such a deed!"
They were speechless. For the elves, it might as well have been that if Sauron had taken Cuiviénen, their sacred place of awakening. What a shattering, horrible, indescribably terrible blow this must be to the dwarves! Even those that did not like them felt their very hearts shake with pity.
Estela was too shocked to respond. Turning her very eyes to her husband, even he seemed too shocked and moved to say anything for the present. How can anyone convey one's sympathies and offer ordinary condolences at such a loss?
"When did this happen?" He asked quietly.
Durin raised his shame, and grief-riddled eyes towards the High Elven King.
"Not three moons past." Durin said quietly. Tears streaked his face.
"And so it has begun." Ereinion said grimly. "And so it shall continue," Estela said, surprising everyone.
"Gundabad, the sacred mountain and birthplace of the Dwarves." She said quietly. "Sauron will strike again. Have no doubt. He will strike and strike until he can take all. We can either join together, or fall apart. Remember the failings of the War of Wrath. The disunity of everyone involved." She emphasized the word and placed volume on the last sentence.
"What happened during the War of Wrath? What happened to our peoples? What made them all fail so miserably during the War against Morgoth?" She gave a harsh laugh. "It wasn't Morgoth's power. No, otherwise he would have taken the whole of Middle-Earth by the end of it. Let us face the blunt and brutal truth of the fact: If it weren't for the Valar, all of us, Noldor and Sindar elves alike, the Dwarves of all the clans, the humans, would have been squashed and pummelled into oblivion, unresisting and accepting without thought, of the darkness." She laughed harshly and bitterly again and she emphasized the last words, as she shocked everyone, for none of them had ever heard of her willingly mentioned the War of Wrath, and to belittle all, many of the elves had been alive during such a period, caused many to mutter and look indignant and shocked.
"You deny it? No victory was ever won by the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. Nothing was." She drawled, with an even stronger emphasis on the word 'nothing'. It was the closest she had ever come to a sneer and it was not a pretty sound to put it mildly, shocking that it came from one so fair.
"The Valar instead came to our aid. Why because everyone could not put aside their petty quarrels and their own personal agendas. My own kin, consumed they were for their oath of vengeance and the quest for those thrice-cursed and forsaken gems!" She declared. "Would I have known and destroyed them, before any could set their eyes upon them!" Everyone looked too shocked for words, flabbergasted and appalled. For one to say such things of one's own kin and forebears, even if they were kinslayers… And to say such things about the wondrous gem, one of which adorned the brow of Eärendil and sailed across the night sky as their most beloved star… But it was understandable.
"And the others that preferred to tuck their feet in, to stay out of this war, or to involve themselves, personally for their own benefit." She hissed venomously, thinking of Lúthien, Beren and Elu Thingol who didn't care a whit. "No one came to the aid of those slaughtered, lest they be the ones who ended up slaughtered themselves before the very end. Why? Because they could not get over their own personal issues. And look what happened! Morgoth had a footing in this world! We were nearly reduced to less than filth, taken to the depths of Angband, tortured and bred to be new orcs." Everyone looked aghast and many even looked sick.
"What next? Cuiviénen?" Estela demanded. "The sacred place of awakening for the Elves? If Gundabad is taken, the sacred birthplace of the Dwarves, why not Cuiviénen, the birthplace of the race whom Morgoth hated above all else, save the Dúnedain. Morgoth's slave still lingers, and he is even fouler and more cunning than his old master, for even Morgoth did not think of taking the cradle of any race! Who do you think thought of the plan to deal with Túrin Turambar? To deal with his father, his sisters, his lover Finduilas? Who planted such a foul and abominable seed in Morgoth's mind? Only Sauron, Gorthaur, the Abhorred! "
Everyone let out a gasp of shock, and many even made signs to ward off evil, or chanted silent prayers to the Valar and the All-Father.
Ereinion closed his eyes.
"Does anyone here, be foolish enough to think that the Valar will come to our aid this time?" Estela asked quietly, but everyone could hear her. "Valinor is now a world away, ripped out of Arda, and all those who go there, cannot come back, even to bring aid! And even if they can, do you think the Valar can help us a second time? They already directly interfered once, and there are rules in place, which prevent them from directly interfering in the smallest and greatest of problems in Middle-Earth for every day of our lives. Laws they cannot bend. Even if they wished, you all know, this is for a reason. And we are on our own." She sat back down.
"The Queen is right," Ereinion said quietly disturbing the silence that had befallen everyone. "We are on our own. And now we have a choice. We can either join forces to combat the overwhelming threat of Mordor, or we can all hide and wait to be picked apart separately. But know this: no matter where we are, no matter how far we go, nor how deep we hide, Sauron sees all. And he will always finds us. No matter what. His eye pierces through the minds of all, and seeks to hunt and destroy us, until there is no one left save his orcs, ungols and himself. He will never eat. He will never sleep. He will never stop destroying all."
Everyone was silent still, and looked at one another. Ereinion sat back down. "The choices are yours," he said quietly. "Do not say that pushed you into this, nor my wife, nor Elendil and his noble heirs. But here and now, I have given you all a choice. To choose whether to stand separately and await destruction on your own, and accept no aid of any kind, from those who stand far away, or to face all our problems together, rather than ignoring and pretending it doesn't exist like we did in the War of Wrath."
No one liked to admit it, but everyone did, for the most part, have their own issues to deal with during that war.
And now Sauron had just proven his strength, his intentions, and his evil. They really didn't stand a chance, just as they never did during the War of Wrath. Not unless they were together.
Everyone said nothing. Until Durin III himself rose and stood.
"I know not what the others will say." He said, strength growing back into his own voice. But and my people for one, will not hide and cower waiting to be devoured like mice in their holes, before the cat comes. We are not cowards. We are not prey," he growled. "And we will never be cowards. I choose to stand and fight, to save my people before the beast comes to our doorsteps once again. I will not wait helplessly for aid." He looked grim when he said this.
"By Durin the Deathless and Mahal's hammer, I, Durin, scion of the former's line, pledge the alliance of the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm and the Longbeard clan against the might of evil."
Ereinion nodded at the Dwarf king before all, and before long Durin himself was joined by a disgusted-looking Oropher who seemed upset that the dwarf had chosen to speak before him. His son also looked far from pleased.
"I will stand and fight for my people," he said. "And no one shall call us helpless or cowardly prey, waiting to be swallowed by the oncoming wall of night. I fight and I will give my all, and spare nothing, to protect my people, if need be. I will not fear death, nor stand idly while darkness falls."
One by one, everyone in the room pledged alliance. The Northmen who knew they could not win this on their own, even the humans of Gondor and Arnor and the elves of Lindon who hosted this meeting and invited all.
"Now it has begun," Ereinion said, solemnly. "Let this be the last time we draw swords together against such an evil. Let such a thing never take place, in all the days of Arda. Let this be the Last Alliance."
And so the Last Alliance was born.
I think we all know that Estela turned out to be right when she said words that will hauntingly echo in a descendant of Isildur's, or at least, his wife. When Aragorn's mother says the line in Sindarin, " I gave hope to the Dúnedain. I have kept no hope for myself." Elrond and Aragorn repeated this line in Return of the King. Mount Gundabad is known as an orc stronghold, but was once considered sacred, as Durin the Deathless, Thorin's ancestor and 'Father of the Dwarves' was awakened there. However in the late Second Age, the mountain was invaded and overrun by orcs. The dwarves eventually got it back, but they deserted the place for reasons unclear. Probably because the orcs had tainted it and it was no longer habitable. Minas Ithil was also taken, though Isildur, his wife and children escaped. It later became Minas Morgul. Minas Anor is Minas Tirith.