'You speak wisely, Master,' Galadriel replied. 'But the chance is great. If we fail, all the west is lost, the Atani shall be enslaved, and the light of the Quendi shall pass forever from the world.'
'All the more reason we should not falter or grow overcautious now, Lady,' said Elrond. 'Think back to the Elder Days, when we fought Morgoth in Thangorodrim. We were cautious then, and it availed us naught. Only the rash courage and bold attack of the Man, Beren One-Hand, brought us the mastery at last. If he had not risked all in the tunnels of Thangorodrim and again in crossing the Shadows, we might all be freezing yet in the icy wastes of Angband, and facing a far greater foe.'
Galadriel nodded. 'Sauron was then but a servant of Melkor the Morgoth. Alas! Would we had caught him then in the wrack of Thangorodrim and cast him out with his master. Little did we imagine then the evil that would come from the escape of that poor broken wretch.'
She sighed. 'Yes, my friends, you are no doubt correct. We are only finishing a task that was begun long ago. We must see it through to the bitter end, no matter the danger. We must cleanse the world of the last shadow of Morgoth.'
'It is well,' said Isildur. 'Now it is growing late and we must away to our rest. The council is on the morrow and there much will be revealed. Until then, I bid all of you good night.' They separated then, Isildur to his sleep, the Quendi to that pensive silence that serves them for slumber.
The night, being midyear's eve, passed swiftly, and the first cock-crow found Amroth high in the tower above the Dome of Stars. He sat in rest, pondering the stars now fading in the rising glow of the sun as she crept above the Ephel Duath. Their fading beauty, finally overwhelmed in the harsh glow of the advancing sun, brought to his mind the inevitable fading of the Quendi as they are replaced by the more earthly Atani. Sighing deeply, he rose and looked out over the vast city of Men as it awoke.
Far below him on the battlement he saw Celeborn and Galadriel walking slowly together, as they have for so many thousands of nights. He wondered what thoughts they shared on this eve of a great battle that could mean the end of all for which they have labored over the ages. If anyone truly knew the terrible danger they were now in, it was they. If Nenya were destroyed, the Golden Wood, their city of Caras Galadon, all of Lothlorien would quickly fade and die. And how each must fear for the other as they go into battle together. The love they share had become ever more legendary as the long ages passed. Amroth tried to imagine his feelings if he knew his beloved Nimrodel were riding into battle beside him.
Seeing the people of the city beginning to stir, he descended the tower. He found Cirdan in the chamber of the palantir, looking through it to the stone in the Emyn Beraid, and from thence to the distant towers of Eldamar, whence they would all one day return. They went together to the dining hall, where they found Elrond and Gildor Inglorion and the Lord and Lady already at table. They spoke little to one another, each lost in his own thoughts.
They had hardly broken their fast before messengers came to them, bidding them to come to the Dome of Stars, for the council was to begin. They were greeted there by a stocky dark man with his hair and his beard alike drawn into long braids. He wore a tunic of light green over good mail, and he greeted the Elves civilly with a deep bow.
'My Lords and Lady,' he said. 'I am Ohtar, the king's esquire, and I welcome you to the Great Council of Osgiliath. I bid you to be patient a few moments more, for not all the guests have arrived.'
They were shown to seats at a great table shaped like a crescent moon. At the center of the curve stood two high thrones of ebony chased with many graceful designs in mithril, one draped in white shrouds. In the other sat Isildur, dressed all in white with a white stone bound upon his brow. He rose to greet his guests.
'Welcome, Firstborn,' he called. 'Pray take your seats on my either hand. The others are even now arriving.'
They sat in the high-backed chairs and watched as the lords and captains of many lands entered the hall and took their seats, each dressed in the colors and livery of his homeland. There was Barathor, whom they already knew, but there were many others. Amroth had not realized how greatly the race of the Atani had come to vary over the ages. There were tall men of Numenorean descent, like unto Isildur. His son Elendur was the greatest of these. Others were shorter and broader, with long yellow hair and fair faces, having somewhat the coloring of the Noldor. Still others had ruddy faces and carrot-colored hair, while others were a deep brown or black, with curling black hair. A group of dwarves entered and bowed low to Isildur, their long beards sweeping the ground. A herald was announcing each of the nobles as they entered:
'Thardun, Captain of Angrenost. Ingold, Master of Calembel. Surion, Guardian of the isle of Cair Andros. Bergil, Mayor of Minas Anor. Halgon, Master of the Ships of the Harlond. Barathor, Lord of Pelargir. Turgon of Ethir Lefnui.'
Each looked at the Elves as they came in, some in wonder, some in surprise, some in open puzzlement. Few had ever seen Elves before. The names went on and on, but Amroth soon lost track of their many names and titles and lands. Some he did notice. One was a thin, studious-looking young man, Isildur's nephew Meneldil, Prince of Anorien since his father's death. At last all the chairs were filled and the room fell quiet. Isildur stood and called out.
'Lords, I greet you and welcome you to Osgiliath. We are gathered in answer to a summons from the Lords of the West: my father Elendil, High King of the Realms in Exile, and Gil-galad, King of the Eldar. We are called to decide matters of great moment today, decisions that will change the course of the world. For long now we have endeavored to keep our plans hidden, lest they reach the ears of the enemy. But now the time for secrecy is past; the time for decisive action is come. But to make such decisions we must know the risks and the costs, what can be gained, and what lost; and know how we have come to this pass.
'The tale of how this council came to be called is a long one, but it should be fully known to all here, whose lives and fortunes lie now in the balance. Many tales go into the making of this tale, and I would have each tell his part in turn. I will begin myself.
'You all know the history of this war with Sauron: how his forces swept down without warning on my city of Minas Ithil in the year '34. His most foul servants yet hold my city and much of the fair land of Ithilien, and they constantly harass us here in Osgiliath and in raids across the Anduin. His allies and agents elsewhere assail our ports and ships and towns, murdering our people and destroying what they cannot carry away. Sauron will not cease his attacks until Gondor and all the free lands of the West are in his power. We are resolved to oppose him while life endures.
'The good people of the Eldar, that you call Elves, have joined us in our struggle against Sauron. Gil-galad has long been a staunch friend of our people, and many an Elvish warrior has laid down his life in battle at our sides. You see here among us some of the greatest Lords of that noble race, come to offer us their assistance and support.
'At first all went well for the Army of the Alliance. United with the Elves, we defeated Sauron's best troops and threw down his Black Gate and took all of Udun and much of the blasted plains of Gorgoroth. We encircled him in his Dark Tower, the Barad-dur, but it is immeasurably strong, and our siege has been unavailing. For seven years now we have maintained the siege, at great cost to ourselves. Many fall in battle, others die of thirst and heat and weariness and the poisonous fumes that belch from the ground. Daily our comrades fall around us, and we can do the enemy but little hurt. They laugh at us as we waste ourselves on their adamantine walls. We had driven Sauron back into his last stronghold, but we could do no more, and it could be said that by maintaining the siege we are in fact losing the war, for our forces ever diminish and his do not.
'Last year my brother Anarion thought to make a last great attempt on the gate of the Barad-dur. He designed a huge covered structure on wheels that contained both a wooden bridge that could be lowered across the chasm and an immense battering ram to force the gate. He built a model and showed it to the kings. It seemed a bold but likely plan. The permission was given and the construction of the engine was begun. Hundreds of huge trees had to be cut high in the northern valleys of the Ered Lithui and dragged and sledged with untold weary labor across many miles of broken terrain. After many months, the engine was completed and the men trained.
'On the appointed day, the entire host rose as one and assailed the Black Tower from every side. Anarion led his men with their engine to the gate. The huge bridge was lowered into place successfully and the engine advanced to the mighty gates. But hardly had the order been given to start the ram when Sauron's hordes unleashed a terrible rain of huge stones, glowing red with heat. Within moments the siege engine was struck by
