Thus began the seventh day – the last, and most terrible of that war; for both sides would suffer loss from which they would never recover.

Upon the slopes of Mordor battle raged unchecked, for the Hordes of Mordor were filled with terror of their Lord, whose great shadow loomed behind them. The coming of the Zherak-Hai had kindled a madness of rage within the Eldar, and under the wrath of Gil-Galad they slaughtered them with a hatred born ere the rising of the Sun; and the race of the Melkohini was destroyed utterly, and without mercy. And those of high mien in the Host of Elendil pursued the Black Numenoreans with an anger born of ancient treachery; and the sorcery of the Judges of Barad-Dur availed them not, for the blended light of the Elendilmir and the Elessar drove away all shadows of deceit as mist before a Western wind.
But the innumerable hosts of Mordor pressed ever forward and up, and in time the charge of the Alliance was slowed by the sheer mass of their fallen foes. With two vast arms, the Hordes of Sauron encircled the Armies of Gil-Galad and Elendil – but the greater part of that host was below the Alliance, and not above them; and so the Alliance still held the higher ground in strength.

But Elendil and Gil-Galad were invincible that day, and no evil born of the World could withstand their combined might. The glaive of Aiglos, crafted by Feanor himself at the height of his power, swept across the enemy in glittering arcs faster than sight could follow, and the edges of Narsil shone with the light of the Sun and Moon combined, cleaving all hell-wrought armour with ease. Telchar, most gifted of all the Dwarf-wrights of Old wrought it in the deeps of time; this sword was the masterpeice of his long life, and was unsurpassed as a weapon against the Enemy. Only cold Ringil of Fingolfin and black Gurthang of Turambar ever matched its deadliness.
And so it proved: Elendil himself slew five hundred of the Uruks, and twenty of the giant Olog-Hai also fell before his blade. Gil-Galad destroyed the Host of the Zherak-Hai almost single-handed; and it seemed that with every cursed life they took the Warrior Generals of the West were renewed in strength, and their vigour rose with the joy of battle, and the Enemy fled before their faces. Together they clove a path to a high hill of stone, and set their standards side by side: the White Tree and the Rayed Star amid the Field of Blue.
But a huge troll-cheiftan leapt before them bellowing, and swung his barbed club at the flagposts in his rage. The curved point of Aiglos ran him through, and his black entrails gushed out painting the rocks below; then Gil-Galad put forth his great strength, and lifted the Troll screaming on high, and cast him as a missile into the ranks of the Orcs below, crushing many under his dead weight. A Black Numenorean then came from behind under a veil of sorcery, hoping to slay Gil-Galad unseen, but the blade of Elendil came down upon his helm, and his body was divided down its middle by the force of the blow, and fell in two gruesome halves.
Then the Orcs fled, and the knights of Elendil and Gil-Galad massed about the foot of the hill in great force, defending their Lords with a forest of bright steel. Ever deeper had they invested the Hosts of Mordor, and had cut almost to its beating heart, and the Will that held them in fear and tyranny.

But the teeming thousands of their Enemy were parting from the rear, and the Shadow of Sauron, long feared in battle, was now approaching; and His footsteps shook the very earth. Upon His left was the Wraithlord Morgul, and upon His right stalked the brutal mass of Gothmog, Lord and Father of the Olog-Hai; and about Him marched the deathly Nazgul as His personal guard. More than twice the height of Elendil did He stand, and he loomed over the Roquen of Gondor and Arnor as a black tower of flickering flame. Then the Lord of Mordor lifted the dread weapon Henghe-Rai aloft, and struck at his enemy.

The effect was terrible: such was the weight of that awful weapon, and the ancient might of the Black Hand that weilded it, that the entire front line was swept away in sudden ruin. As skilled in combat as they were the Roquen of Elendil were cast as blown sand over the heads of their comrades, and their armour was no defense against the hatred of Sauron; their shattered bodies flew apart in pieces, and fell hundreds of feet away as a hail of blood and gore. Those foolhardy enough to strike at the Dark Lord were as quickly dispatched, for their swords shattered upon His armour, and the bones of their arms were broken by the counterspells that lay therein. And He clutched them with the great claw of his Black Hand, and lifted them high into the air; and they screamed in their agony as he set His fire in their flesh, and flung them as flaming shot amid their brethren. Thus He continued, killing hundreds in an orgy of death, unchecked, unchallenged; a towering machine of murder.
Then the great bow of slain Oropher sang, weilded by Thranduil his son. Clear and straight did his last arrow fly, toward the shifting horror of Sauron’s face. The archers of Celeborn and Amroth took his lead, and they loosed the last of their darts, long kept in reserve, upon the Lord of Mordor.

But Sauron raised his Black Hand high, and lo! it burst forth in flame, and the arrow of Thranduil burnt to ash as it approached, as did all the arrows of the Galadhrim, who cried in dismay; and the Dark Lord came on undaunted, surrounded by a aegis of heat and smoke. The Fire and the Shadow gathered strength about the terrible majesty of His person, and it seemed as though a Balrog of Old had come among them, but with a far greater power and cunning; and the hearts of the Eldar were filled with ancient fear. The Dark Lord slew Elves and Men at will as they fled in terror; the viscera of their broken bodies fell in thick sheets of red rain, and the Lord of Mordor took great mirth in his dreadful work.
Then Sauron cast his Eye upon the hill of stone, and he saw there the gleam of Narsil and Aiglos, and the undimmed light cast by their bearers – an open challenge to the consuming darkness of The Shadow, His Shadow. With a cry of hatred he thrust forth, gathering to Him the the Wraithlord Morgul and His Nazgul, and mighty Gothmog, and His pupil, the Mouth, also came. Together they charged the hill, and the remnants of Elendils guard were swept aside, and the remaining Eldar of Lindon were crushed beneath their merciless feet.

So suddenly had victory turned to defeat that Gil-Galad laughed as though fey, and turned to his friend.
“And so upon Mount Doom shall Doom fall, friend of mine. Here comes our death, but I say we make them pay dearly for our lives price! And we shall yet do deadly hurt to their Lord ere we fall! For does not the might of Fingolfin flow within me? And does not the power of Melian, His ancient foe, run in thy veins? – ever shall her Earthly children return to foil His purpose, and I deem both truths are now come to their testing.”

But Elendil said nothing, and smiled, his grey hair blowing in the wind. He gave the Elven Lord his arm, and Gil-Galad grasped it as he had done in the Gulf of Lhun, when this Leader of Men was delivered from the wrack of fallen Numenor, and their friendship born. Then the two Kings of the West, mighty allies, leaders of their race, comrades of unbreakable friendship – they held their weapons aloft in the face of their Doom. Together they turned their faces to the storm, and the light of Aiglos and Narsil shone fair and desperate before the oncoming Shadow.