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Chapter 131: Sauron Bites the Dust
🕑 Added 2026-01-11 16:00:14 +0000 UTCDark Lord Sauron’s fury blazed. A mass of pitch-black smoke plunged from the sky, twisting into galloping horses, prowling beasts, loathsome abominations, and water-serpents. An army of wicked things closed in on the mortals, while nine mighty undead hid within the reeking darkness, raising their weapons as they swept in to slaughter.
Radagast the Brown muttered under his breath, “We’re finished… we’re really finished…”
Lady Moonshadow stood in front of Dumbledore, her expression proud and aloof. A warm, pale radiance drifted around her like flowing water and tides at dawn and dusk. That light held back the black miasma and seared the undead concealed within it.
She said, “Shattered, fallen souls—your fate has already been written. Defeat and ruin are what you are meant for.”
“As the Music once allowed rebellious notes to enter the theme—so too is fate. Without twists and trials, even the grace of the divine would grow dim. And so darkness is born from light… and I, too, will never vanish.” Sauron’s shadow let out a muffled, heavy laugh.
“Then did you foresee the arrival of the discordant note?” Moonshadow raised a silver bow, and a shaft of light streaked out, stabbing straight into the Dark Lord’s chest.
Sauron was struck—he could not stop the arrow—but he felt no pain at all, as though it were nothing more than a harmless phantom.
Moonshadow turned her head and said to Dumbledore, “Bring out your star.”
Dumbledore lifted Azura’s Star high. A silver brilliance streamed from the wound in Sauron’s chest and poured into the gemstone.
The agony of having his soul stripped away forced Sauron into a howl.
Long ago, to satisfy his lust to dominate, Dark Lord Sauron feigned goodwill and passed his vast knowledge to the Elves, guiding their smiths in the forging of the Rings of Power—nine rings for Men, seven for Dwarves, and three for Elves—bestowed upon the finest rulers of the three kindreds. In secret, Sauron also forged the One Ring, meant to control the other nineteen.
After the One Ring was lost in war, he was forced to abandon his body and flee in the form of a spirit, and from then on he languished in weakness. Now his soul was seized by Lady Moonshadow and poured into Azura’s Star. He was too feeble to resist the process at all.
With the Dark Lord taken, the Nine Ringwraiths scattered in desperate flight. The darkness that had squatted in Dol Guldur was swept clean in a single stroke.
Dumbledore lowered Azura’s Star. In the very core of the gem, an orange-red, flame-lit eye had appeared, staring coldly out at the world. Sauron’s shadow was that eye’s vertical pupil—coiled with boundless rage, tugging at the dark cravings in people’s hearts.
A pale-violet hand reached over and pressed down on Azura’s Star, cutting off Dumbledore’s gaze.
He came to himself as if waking from a dream. “Oh—sorry. It seems this gemstone is better kept in your care.”
Moonshadow smiled calmly. “No one can promise they’ll never drown in gloomy emotions—myself included. Azura’s Star’s fate follows you; use its power well. And there is also a god-soul hidden here—its strength is inexhaustible for mortals.”
Dumbledore looked thoughtful and put Azura’s Star away.
Nearby, Radagast the Brown’s jaw practically hit the ground. Who am I? Where am I? What the hell did I just see?
“Gandalf, this is the reinforcements you were talking about?”
Moonshadow laughed. “Oh, muddle-headed Radagast—I know you. Yavanna has spoken of you.”
Yavanna was one of the Valar, and Radagast was a Maia in her service. The moment he heard that name, light flashed in his usually dazed eyes. With a beaming smile, he bowed to Moonshadow in greeting.
“Where did you meet Lady Yavanna? Is she well?”
Moonshadow glanced at the portal behind her. “I’m a guest in Valinor, where the Powers dwell.”
Radagast tilted his head up at a perfect forty-five-degree angle, tears streaming down his face. “How I miss Valinor… I miss the towering Pelóri Mountains… Are the holy green hills beyond Valimar still as beautiful as ever, bathed in her eternal blessing?”
Off to the side, the old educator gave a faint shake of his head, privately thinking the man’s theatrics were not unlike the Minister for Magic.
Moonshadow’s smile carried a teasing edge. “If you miss her, you can come back with me.”
As a properly mature Maia, the Brown Wizard declared righteously that he bore an important mission in Middle-earth—how could he abandon his duty just because he felt a little homesick?
“Very well.” Moonshadow nodded naturally and let the topic drop.
The righteousness instantly collapsed off Radagast’s face. He stood there gaping, a thousand loyal declarations stuck in his throat, unable to go up or down, until he could only roll his eyes.
Moonshadow asked Dumbledore again, “And you? Do you want to see Valinor?”
“I’m worried about the dwarves on that expedition.”
“Do they have courage?”
“Yes.”
“Then you needn’t worry about them. Those with courage always find their own way.”
Dumbledore nodded. “That’s true. And I’d very much like to see Valinor’s wonders as well.” He turned and instructed the Brown Wizard, “Then I’ll have to trouble you to look after that poor old dwarf.”
Radagast nodded stiffly. He watched as the two of them stepped through the portal and disappeared, while the door remained standing there.
“Who doesn’t want to see Valinor? Honestly. Idiot that I am—I should’ve just said it. But no, I had to copy Gandalf’s act… and now I’m the one stuck running errands.” Radagast grumbled as he placed Thráin into the wooden sled. He looked back at the portal longingly, then finally snapped the reins and urged the rabbits onward toward his own home.
Dumbledore arrived in Valinor—this blessed holy land, a place like paradise. The portal opened in Valimar, where a hundred bells rang out together, and the Valar dwelled.
“There is no land in the world as beautiful as this.” Dumbledore gazed deeply at the hallowed realm. His chest filled with an immense happiness—and then, in the next instant, his mortal heart beat steadily again. He felt no clinging longing for the place, only appreciation.
Moonshadow called down a Great Eagle, which bore them westward to the shoreline of the Outer Sea.
On the pearl-white sands, a campfire burned—and Skyl sat beside the flames.
“Professor, you’ve come.”
Dumbledore and Moonshadow walked together to the fire. Seats had been laid out, and fair-faced Valar—beautiful as Elves—came and went nearby. Yet the Great One, Ilúvatar, remained here the whole while. He had wandered the shore, watching the swells of the Outer Sea, until the visitors arrived; only then did he kindle the flame and invite them to sit.
Ilúvatar’s incarnation was a glowing white figure with no fixed features. Beside his hand rested a golden harp, playing its own music.
After Dumbledore sat down, he did not speak. He listened quietly to the strings, feeling a melody vast and soaring, yet intricate and gently turning.
“This is but an echo of the Great Music,” Moonshadow explained to him. “This universe—and the fate of every living thing within it—is the Music itself.”
“Then is fate decided just like that?” he asked softly. “Is everyone’s destiny already set?”
Ilúvatar noticed the outsider’s doubt and answered, “Beasts, growing things, the earth and the sky—my Quendi, and every other note that exists—all return to the Music. Only the fate of the Atani lies in their own hands, for that is the gift I granted them, like death itself.”
