A voice, calm and bright as clear waters, rang from the fallen gates of Dol Guldur.
All turned at once.
Through the drifting shadows came a white steed, its coat shimmering as though it bore starlight upon every hair. The bridle gleamed, glittering like a net of jewels wrought from the constellations themselves. Upon its back rode a golden-haired lord, cloak flying, his face unveiled, radiant in the glow of a white fire that streamed from him.
Glorfindel had come.
The once-lord of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin, he who had stood against Balrogs and returned beyond death, now the sole warlord of Elves in Middle-earth whose might could rival the Valar's servants.
At his approach the Witch-king of Angmar recoiled, staggering back in dread, and almost turned to flight. Even Sauron's scarlet eyes darkened with unease.
A shout of joy rose among the host.
"Glorfindel has come!"
"The noble Child of Eru has ridden to our aid!"
He rode forward, sword drawn, white fire blossoming about him until the field itself seemed split into day and night, his light matched against the Dark Lord's black. He inclined his head gently to the kings, but his eyes rested at last upon Kaen.
"I told you," Glorfindel said softly, "whenever you called my name, no matter where I was, I would come."
Though wary, Sauron's spirit hissed defiance. "What does it matter if you bear strength like the Maiar? You cannot overthrow me."
"Is that so?"
Before his boast could fall, the very heavens shuddered.
A low hum filled the air, and the oppressive clouds that had cloaked Dol Guldur for a thousand years burst apart like smoke before the wind. Stars blazed forth, the white moon unveiled in full majesty.
Then with a thunderous crack a white pillar of light struck earth. From it stepped a radiant figure, a woman robed in flowing white, her gown borne aloft by the winds of power, her wings of purest white unfolding as the darkness quailed.
"Thuringwethil," Sauron spat, his voice edged with hatred.
But the figure only smiled faintly. "I am Artemis now."
She turned to Kaen and bowed. "Forgive me, my king. I am late."
Relief softened Kaen's features. "No. You have come in the very hour we needed you."
Now stood together: a Maia unveiled, the greatest warrior of the Eldar, the Lady Galadriel with her Ring, Gandalf Greyhame, Elrond Half-elven, and Kaen himself. All, if they gave their utmost, could wield at least the strength of heroes of myth. At the height of it, they might match two of the Maiar themselves. Glorfindel's burned brightest still, for he alone had once slain a Balrog, a spirit of Morgoth's brood.
Such a host no wraith could withstand. Even Sauron, shorn of his bodily form and left only as spirit, could not meet them headlong.
Yet Sauron was ever cunning. In the instant he saw the noose tighten, he set his mind upon escape.
He shrieked, a sound that pierced thought, and for a heartbeat even the greatest staggered. A black shockwave blasted outward, hurling soldiers to the ground, raising clouds of dust and shadow. In that chaos, his form flared red and vanished, streaking like a bloody comet southward.
The Dark Lord fled.
With him went the Nine. The Witch-king, Khamûl, and their brethren vanished, drawn into his retreat. Though they could be remade so long as the One Ring endured, each resurrection drained his dark strength; and so he took them with him.
"I will pursue him!" cried Artemis, wings flaring wide.
But Kaen raised his hand. "No. He will flee to Mordor. That is his seat of shadow, where no power short of the Valar may overthrow him."
Elrond added gravely: "Unless the One Ring be found and destroyed."
At this, silence fell, and none pressed further. The Dark Lord was driven out, the Nine removed, and the remnants of his horde scattered. Their doom was only a matter of time.
Elves, Dwarves, and Men, shoulder to shoulder—heroes of every kind had fought and bled here. In the fire of Dol Guldur they had forged friendship unbreakable.
When dawn came, sunlight bathed the fortress after long centuries.
Upon the highest ruin the kings stood side by side: Kaen,Elrond, Thorin, Dáin, Bard, Thranduil, Galadriel, Celeborn—eight in number. Behind them Glorfindel shone like the morning star, and Artemis, bright as the moon, stood at Kaen's back.
Kaen raised his sword eastward, toward the rising sun, and cried:
"The shadow is broken, the light triumphant. Peace returns to the North, and the forest lives again!"
From him a golden light surged heavenward. The Elven lords gathered their own radiance and poured it into him. Upon the height of Dol Guldur Kaen appeared as a sun, blazing, his brilliance piercing the heavens. The wave of power swept for leagues upon leagues, scouring all lingering darkness.
So fierce was its glow that even in the far South the folk of Rohan and Gondor beheld its gleam. They named it the Light of Ithilien, the holy flame that pierced the firmament.
And all the hosts below lifted their voices in one great cheer, knowing that for long years ahead the North and t Rhovanion would know peace.
Yet far to the South, in the black lands of Mordor, a red flame crashed into the earth. A shape, vast and wrathful, rose within it, and eyes like burning coals fixed northward on the fading pillar of gold.
Calm and deadly came the voice of Sauron: "Kaen Eowenríel must die. His light brings rebirth to Elf and Man alike. That cannot be allowed."
From the gloom the Nine glided forth again.
The Witch-king rasped: "He is guarded by a Maia. We cannot reach him."
Khamûl whispered: "And Glorfindel walks at his side—the Elf who once slew a Maia of fire. He too shields that mortal king."
Sauron's reply was cold as ash: "The Light they cling to is but a fading ember. I command the true Dark, the ancient night that Morgoth wove into the very bones of Arda. It is a bottomless well, and it is mine."
"Go. Restore my fortress at Gundabad. The cold-drakes will hear your summons, and the shadows of the elder days will answer my call….."