Chapter Text
The end of the world – it began on a day like any other.
Not even the most enlightened of the Eldar could have anticipated its sudden and horrifying onset, nor could they have predicted how profoundly Middle-earth would be altered forever.
Once things had been set into motion, there was no halting the relentless tide of corruption that swept across the land, unfolding with swift and inexorable finality.
It was a warm summer day in the year 2911 of the Third Age, as a colossal explosion, originating from the shadowed spire of Barad-dûr, disturbed the previously peaceful continent of Middle-earth, the remnants of the tremors of the earth still felt as far as to the lands of Arnor and beyond.
Those dwelling near enough to Mordor, upon witnessing this calamity, were struck with an icy blend of dread, as dark clouds arose high above the dark tower, for they knew that something terrible must have happened, although they could not yet grasp the severity of the disaster that was to come.
Alas, it was the Firstborn, along the Istari, who first realized what had been done.
Sauron – the dark Lord, would-be conqueror of Arda, once thought defeated by the Last Alliance of Elves and Men - had been reunited with his ring, the One Ring to rule them all.
As he regained his power and gained control over the other, subservient rings, tainting them with his twisted desire for power, the wise beings of light and goodness known as Elrond and Galadriel collapsed to their knees, hurrying to rid themselves of Nenya and Vilya, in front of their alarmed kin.
And with their corruption, the protection they had provided the Elven realms both against the sight of the enemy as well as the ravages of time, dissipated.
Concerning the Istar wandering the lands, known to the Elves as Mithrandir, he fared not much better. For even though he was too powerful to succumb immediately to Sauron's corruption and not as susceptible to its pain as the purely light beings of the Firstborn, Narya had nonetheless become a perilous tool, now bending to the will of the dark lord.
And soon, the catastrophe followed.
The onslaught began with sudden and fierce attacks on the originally prosperous realms inhabited by the children of Ilúvatar.
Dark and malevolent forces, led by the Nazgûl, unleashed a series of coordinated strikes across the vast kingdoms of Men, Elves, and Dwarves. The ferocity of these attacks was unprecedented and sudden, shocking even the oldest among these races who had witnessed countless great wars and knew all too well the formidable power of the encroaching Shadow.
This relentless assault threw even the mightiest kingdoms into disarray. These nations, once equipped with formidable armies and robust defenses, now found themselves ill-prepared. Throughout years of relative peace, their vigilance had waned, their alliances dispersed, leaving them vulnerable.
The Darkness, now the strongest it had been in millennia, seized this opportunity, penetrating their weakened defenses with ease. It spread through their lands and into the hearts of their people, tainting and corrupting everything that was once vibrant and pure in the world.
Unexpectedly, it was the ancient realms of the Elves that first succumbed to the surging armies of the Shadow.
Mirkwood – known centuries ago as Greenwood the Great – fell first.
Although a people of battle-hardened warriors, who had long since fought the encroaching darkness originating from Dol Guldur, their proximity to this source of evil sealed their fate.
The Orcs, alongside other minions loyal to Sauron, unleashed a particular, unbridled fury against the Elves, whom they viewed as the embodiment of everything they opposed – the light to their darkness. Sauron himself, delighting in the fall of the Elves, focused significant efforts on their destruction, even as he stayed back in the Black Lands, a silent observer delighting in the unfolding massacre.
As the protective magic of the Elves waned, the very earth of their lands began to decay, morphing slowly into a landscape that mirrored the dark realm of the East.
Eventually, within a few centuries, their lands were doomed to become indistinguishable, with the Shadow obscuring the light that once filled Middle-earth, turning verdant fields into barren ash.
The Orcs, Trolls, and allied Men of the East, particularly the Easterlings and Haradrim, advanced from their eastern stronghold, seizing wealth, power, and blood. This combined force proved unstoppable.
Eventually, most realms disbanded, fell into ruin, or were enslaved by the Shadow.
Among those who witnessed these events over the years were the last of the Firstborn. Immortality, once a gift, had become a curse in these times of turmoil. Those who still could, who had not sacrificed themselves in the defense of their land and kin, fled to the Blessed Lands.
Yet, the havens soon became unsustainable, and escape routes dwindled until they were no more. Many of those who survived the onslaught and had not fled in time either ended up enslaved in Mordor or succumbed to their grief and faded away.
Eventually, their ancient race appeared to have vanished from Middle-earth entirely, becoming akin to myths to the race of Men, as Sauron’s forces did their utmost to erase all traces of their existence.
The Dwarves fared no better, and arguably worse.
Unlike others, they united and retreated to their last bastions in the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains, attempting to preserve their culture and ready to go down fighting, as their brave folk was wont to do. Unsupported by the other once-mighty races, they waged a valiant, but ultimately doomed resistance.
Within a decade, the Dwarves were thoroughly subjugated, their role among the free peoples of Middle-earth rendered irrelevant, with the few survivors taken captive, forced to work in mines and lend the skills of their craft to the fashioning of weapons used to further oppress their kin and the other races.
Men initially scattered like the Elves, disorganized, overpowered and divided.
Yet unlike the Elves, they soon regrouped, fighting to reclaim their momentarily forsaken cities. Proving great strength of will, they diligently and continuously expelled Mordor's forces, slowly reclaiming parts of their previously mighty territories. Their capacity to adapt to change became their most significant advantage, enabling them to succeed where other races had faltered – in preserving their freedom, or at least, its illusion.
Despite the overpowering might of Sauron and the relentless assaults from the eastern armies, the people of Rohan, their numbers bolstered by the refugees stemming from regions close to Mordor, such as from Gondor and its fiefdoms or Dale, managed to push back.
Although they could not match the dark Lord’s strength, they gradually reclaimed stretches of their lands. They fled to Helm’s Deep, which had served their ancestors well before and eventually stood as the last fortified and substantial refuge of the free Men.
Yet, the sole reason they survived the initial disaster was that Sauron, who had taken great pleasure in the destruction of the Firstborn, desired to dominate Middle-earth rather than annihilate it. Thus, he eventually tempered his relentless assaults, allowing just enough respite for the mortal races to gradually recover, even as his minions continued to roam the lands, killing, pillaging and raping wherever they went and as much as they liked.
And so, for the first time in thousands of years, the realm of Men had grown more formidable than that of the Elves. Yet, this advantage was slight, for they remained vastly weaker than the might of Sauron's legions.
However, not all Men were aligned in their efforts.
Those from kingdoms too ravaged to save, those without refuge, or those whose spirits had long since been tainted by Sauron's malice, turned into solitary wanderers.
Driven to madness by their transformed world, they became as monstrous as the beings that had once robbed them of their liberty.
These nomads, destitute and dangerous, scoured the lands for mere sustenance. In their desperation, some banded together, resorting to extreme actions for survival. Stories of their grim deeds spread, with bands of Men turning on each other, becoming as wild and unchecked as the foulest creatures from the dreaded lands of Mordor they so abhorred.
Even amidst this despair, the remaining Free Peoples of Middle-earth persevered, clinging to the slender hope that something, someday, might shift their grim fortunes and rescue them from their dire circumstances.
And they had been right to hope, for even amidst the bleakest of times, it had already been foreseen that a king would emerge out of the ashes – a great king, who would serve as the spark, if not the sole catalyst, for a fierce blaze that would offer them one last chance at reclaiming their ancestral lands.
And yet, the paths of fate were ever fickle, leaving the outcome of the story shrouded in uncertainty.