The Siege of Barad-dûr

In Tolkien’s legendarium Barad-dûr stands as the visible heart of Sauron’s power in Mordor, a vast dark tower rising above the land like a threat made stone, built with the aid of the One Ring so that its strength is bound to his own will, and its grim walls and countless battlements look out over a world that grows dimmer and more afraid as his might increases. The tower is not only a military stronghold but also a symbol of the darkening of the Second Age, for as Sauron’s shadow spreads, the great fortress becomes the sign that night is falling on the free peoples of Middle-earth. From afar its shape, wreathed in fumes from nearby Orodruin, announces that Sauron has gathered his power and that he now rules by fear, sorcery, and the promise of ruin. The very name Barad-dûr, the Dark Tower, shows that this is no common stronghold, but the visible mark of a will that seeks to master all life and remake the world in his own cruel image. In “The Silmarillion” Barad-dûr is described as the greatest fortress in Middle-earth since the fall of Angband, and just as Angband once embodied Morgoth’s power in the north, so Barad-dûr becomes the center of a new age of terror in the east.

The Siege of Barad-dûr is the great climax of Sauron’s long rise in the Second Age, a struggle in which all the long labors of Elves and Men come to a single terrible test, and the fate of their peoples turns upon a few years of war. For centuries Sauron has planned and grown in secret, first as a fair and cunning teacher in Eregion, then as an open tyrant and dark lord ruling from Mordor, and the siege marks the moment when his open claim to mastery is finally answered by a united resistance. In Tolkien’s chronology this struggle brings the Second Age to its breaking point, because the war that ends at Barad-dûr strips Sauron of his body and shatters his armies, yet also brings the fall of great kings and the fading of ancient powers. The victory of the Last Alliance upon the slopes near the Dark Tower does not end the story of evil, but it ends an age, and the dating in the “Tale of Years” makes clear that the overthrow of Sauron at Barad-dûr is the hinge between the Second Age of building and pride and the Third Age of watchfulness and decline. Thus the siege is not simply a battle, but the turning of the world’s history from one chapter to the next.

To understand the siege the reader must first picture Mordor itself as Tolkien describes it, a harsh land of ash and fire bounded by the sharp ridges of the Ephel Dúath and Ered Lithui, where the very air is tainted with smoke that blows from Orodruin, the Mountain of Fire. Inside that iron ring of mountains lie plains of slag and broken rock, rivers of dust, and fields where nothing fair grows, only thorns and coarse grasses under a sky that is often darkened by fumes. In the midst of this wounded land Sauron has chosen the place of his power, raising Barad-dûr with deep foundations of stone and iron so that it seems to grow out of the earth itself, and he has filled its halls and dungeons with creatures twisted by fear and cruelty. Tolkien’s descriptions in “The Lord of the Rings” and its appendices do not dwell on every brick and buttress, yet they leave a strong sense of a fortress built not only by craft but also by sorcery, bound by spells as much as by mortar, so that the tower and the will of its master are joined. This is the world the armies of the Last Alliance must face, a realm that itself has become a weapon in Sauron’s hands, blazing with red light at night and choked with gloom by day.

Sauron’s path to open power begins in secret, when he lays aside the terrifying form he once wore as a servant of Morgoth and instead appears fair and wise to the Elven-smiths of Eregion, calling himself Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, and teaching them hidden lore while he studies their arts. Under his guidance the Gwaith-i-Mírdain reach new heights of skill, and in this time he learns much of the craft of ring-making from Celebrimbor and his folk, but in his heart he plans treachery. When he leaves Eregion and returns to Mordor he puts his knowledge to its true use, for in the fire of Orodruin he forges the One Ring in secret, pouring into it a great part of his native power and malice. “The Silmarillion” tells that with this Ring Sauron intends to control all those who wear the Rings of Power that he has helped to guide, binding their minds to his own and ruling them through their desire for strength and knowledge. His deceit is almost complete until the Elves perceive his attempt at dominion and take off their Rings, breaking his first plan and turning hidden craft into open war. Thus the forging of the One Ring is the moment when Sauron’s long game of flattery and guidance becomes a naked claim to mastery over Middle-earth.

Once the One Ring is forged Sauron’s strength soars, and with it his will to dominate whole realms, for the Ring magnifies his native power and allows his thought to reach far, darkening minds and bending many hearts to fear and worship. With this weapon he no longer relies on persuasion alone, but marshals armies of Orcs, Trolls, and Men who have fallen under his shadow, and from Barad-dûr he directs campaigns that bring large parts of Middle-earth into his grasp. Tolkien notes that many lands of Men in the east and south come under his rule, and even mighty Númenor takes notice of his growing might, for his fortress in Mordor now stands at the center of a widening dominion tied to the Ring. Because so much of his power is poured into that single object, Barad-dûr becomes less a simple castle and more the central node of a spiritual network of fear and authority that reaches across mountains and seas. Wherever his servants go they carry the knowledge that their master’s gaze can find them through the Ring, and this knowledge alone often breaks the will to resist.

With the One Ring in play the ancient rivalries among Elves, Men, and Dwarves are no longer limited to border disputes or quarrels over trade, because Sauron’s plan aims at nothing less than lordship over all free peoples, turning local conflicts into one vast struggle for the fate of the world. Realms that might once have ignored each other now discover that if they resist Sauron alone they will be crushed one by one, as he has already proved against the weaker kingdoms of Men in the east. This threat forces leaders such as Gil-galad and later Elendil to look beyond old griefs and mistrust, remembering past ages when similar pride and division allowed Morgoth to ravage Beleriand. Tolkien’s appendices make it clear that the War of the Last Alliance arises from this need to stand together against a single foe who wields a power greater than any one realm can match, for the One Ring ties all lesser Rings and their bearers to Sauron’s will if he is not opposed. Thus the political landscape of the Second Age is reshaped into a simple and terrible choice: join the Dark Lord, stand aside and fall later, or unite in open war against him.

After Sauron forges the One Ring and begins to gather his strength, Barad-dûr is not left as a mere tower but is rebuilt and enlarged into a fortress of dread, raised with spells and dark labor until its walls and towers loom above the ashen plains of Mordor. “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age” explains that the building of this vast stronghold is aided by the might of the Ring itself, so that its foundations are bound to Sauron’s being and cannot be wholly destroyed while he endures. Over time the Dark Tower grows into a complex of battlements, pits, barracks, and watch-towers, all designed to hold and direct legions of Orcs and Men who serve Sauron, and its black stones seem to drink in what little light reaches them. From its high windows and iron-throned halls Sauron watches his enemies and plans new wars, confident that as long as the Ring remains on his hand his fortress will stand unconquered. The rebuilding of Barad-dûr marks his transformation from a hidden plotter to an open tyrant whose presence is felt in every shadowed corner of his realm.

As Sauron strengthens Barad-dûr his shadow spreads far beyond the borders of Mordor, and the story in “The Silmarillion” and the appendices describes how the hearts of Men grow fearful and more easily corrupted, while many smaller realms falter under pressure or fall into decay. In the east and south whole peoples are drawn into his service, either by force or through the promise of power, and they march under his banners in wars that the West hears of only in rumor. Even lands that remain free feel the weight of his growing might, for trade is disrupted, roads become dangerous, and the memory of older alliances begins to fade as each people worries over its own survival. Some Men envy the long lives of the Númenóreans and nurse grudges that Sauron is ready to inflame, while others are lured by gifts and secret promises. In this way Sauron does not rely on open war alone, but weakens his enemies through fear, division, and the slow poisoning of trust among those who might otherwise stand together.

In Lindon and among the surviving Elves of Eriador, as well as among the Faithful Númenóreans who still honor the Valar, leaders begin to see that Sauron’s rise threatens the whole of Middle-earth, not only their own cities. Gil-galad, who has already fought Sauron’s forces in Eriador, understands the pattern behind these new movements of armies and the tales of distant conquests, and he sends trusted emissaries like Elrond to explore and to counsel other rulers. The Númenóreans who have remained loyal to the West, led in later days by Elendil and his sons, remember how their island kingdom was destroyed after Ar-Pharazôn brought Sauron to Númenor and allowed him to corrupt its pride, and they know that if he is not checked, the same shadow will fall upon their new homes. Tolkien shows that these leaders do not rush to war lightly, but through long years of watching and resisting, they come to see that a final confrontation is unavoidable, for Sauron will not cease until all Middle-earth is under his hand. Thus the idea of a great alliance of Elves and Men moves from hope to necessity as the Second Age draws toward its end.

The alliance that will one day besiege Barad-dûr is sealed when Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth, and Elendil, lord of the surviving Faithful Númenóreans, swear to stand together against Sauron, joining their peoples in what Tolkien calls the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. Gil-galad brings with him the long memory of the First Age and the wars against Morgoth, while Elendil carries the sorrow of Númenor’s fall and the wisdom of those who remained true to the Valar, and together they represent the chief hope of the West. “The Silmarillion” and the appendices describe how they bind their houses in friendship, with Elrond serving Gil-galad and later receiving Vilya, and Isildur and Anárion ruling in Gondor under their father’s high kingship in Arnor, all united in purpose. This alliance is not only political but also moral, for it stands for resistance to tyranny and for the memory of older oaths to protect the Free Peoples. By linking Elf and Man in shared command it recalls earlier unions such as those between Fingon and Fingolfin’s house and the Edain, yet it also surpasses them in scale, for now the war is for all the lands that remain. Thus the personal friendship of Gil-galad and Elendil becomes the keystone of the great host that will march on Mordor.

When the Last Alliance is formed it draws warriors, craftsmen, and leaders from many corners of Middle-earth, as the call to resist Sauron spreads beyond Lindon and the Númenórean realms. From Gil-galad’s western kingdom come hosts of Noldor in shining mail, and from other Elven lands there arrive Sindar and Silvan Elves who still remember ancient griefs yet are willing to face a new dark lord. From Númenórean bloodlines descend the Dúnedain of Arnor and Gondor, bringing tall warriors, shipwrights, and engineers, while lesser Men of other lands also answer the summons in hopes of freedom from Sauron’s yoke. Tolkien notes that Dwarves of Khazad-dûm fight in these wars as well, though not under the same banners, and they too add their strength and skill in arms. The long march to Mordor begins after mustering in lands like Imladris and the plains near the Misty Mountains, turning scattered peoples into a single great army that crosses rivers and mountains together. In this way the Last Alliance truly earns its name, for it draws on nearly every free realm that still has both courage and the means to fight.

What makes this Alliance uniquely able to challenge Barad-dûr is the union of different strengths and traditions, combining Elven craft and Númenórean might into a single instrument of war that can stand against Mordor’s grim fortress. The Elves bring high skill in archery, healing, and the making of weapons that hold ancient enchantments, as well as leaders like Gil-galad, Elrond, and Círdan who possess deep knowledge of Sauron’s nature as a fallen Maia. The Númenóreans provide heavy infantry, strong in discipline and courage, and siege engineers who have inherited the sea-kings’ talent for building in stone and timber, now turned from harbors to towers, rams, and engines of war. Together they can not only meet Sauron’s armies in open battle, as at the great victory on the plain of Dagorlad, but also maintain a long investment of Barad-dûr, which would be impossible for a smaller or less organized host. Tolkien hints that without both Elven wisdom and the endurance of Men, the West could never have faced the long years of war needed to break Sauron’s visible power. Thus the Alliance represents the best that each race can offer when old mistrust is set aside in the face of a common enemy.

As the hosts of the Last Alliance march eastward toward Mordor, they pass through lands already scarred by Sauron’s influence, crossing deserts of broken stone and wide stretches of scoria and blackened earth that speak of past fires and war. To reach the Dark Lord’s realm they must come to the very ring of mountains that Tolkien describes as fencing in Mordor, walls of rock that rise like teeth against the sky and guard the blasted plain within. They find passes such as Cirith Gorgor, the Haunted Pass, and must force their way through narrow defiles where enemies may lurk, all the while drawing nearer to the fiery glow of Orodruin that stains the clouds. The air grows harsher, filled with dust and fumes that sting the eyes and lungs of Men, and even the Elves feel the weight of a land that has been twisted to serve a single cruel will. Every league of this march reminds the allied host that they are entering not only an enemy country, but a region molded by long ages of dark purpose. Mordor itself becomes the outer rampart of Barad-dûr, making the road to the siege costly before a single arrow is loosed against the walls.

Before the siege can even begin, the armies of the Alliance must fight great battles on the plains before Mordor, most notably the Battle of Dagorlad, where Tolkien records that they win a hard-fought victory over Sauron’s main field host. On that bloody field Elves and Men hold their ground against Orcs, Trolls, and Men under Sauron’s command, driving them back after long struggle, and many captains gain fame even as many perish. When at last Sauron’s army breaks, a portion flees into the Dead Marshes, where their bodies and memories remain as a warning to later ages, and the survivors withdraw behind the strong defenses of Mordor. Only then can the host of Gil-galad and Elendil push forward to lay siege to the Dark Tower itself, setting up camps and lines around the outer approaches to Barad-dûr and beginning the grim work of cutting it off from outside aid. Although they have triumphed in the open, they now face an enemy who fights from behind walls of iron and stone, with deep stores and cruel devices prepared for just such an assault.

The long campaign in and around Mordor tests the endurance and planning of the Alliance as much as their courage, because they must sustain a vast army in a barren land while their foes fight from prepared positions and use the very environment as a shield. Supplies of food, water, arrows, timber, and metal must be brought over great distances from safer lands behind the lines, guarded against ambush, and rationed carefully, for Mordor itself offers little that can be safely used. Siege engines such as rams, towers, and catapults need strong wood and iron, which the Númenórean craftsmen must shape far from home and then drag or roll over rough ground under the threat of sudden attacks. Meanwhile the choking dust, the heat from the Mountain of Fire, and the constant sense of being watched wear down even the hardiest soldier, creating a struggle against exhaustion and despair as well as against the enemy’s weapons. Tolkien does not dwell on every detail of these hardships, yet by noting that the siege lasts many years he makes clear that victory comes only through long preparation and steady will, as the West refuses to be turned back by either the land or the Lord who has shaped it.

When at last the Last Alliance is able to surround the Dark Tower, they begin a formal siege of Barad-dûr, yet they quickly discover that this is no ordinary fortress, for its sheer size, high walls, and deep enchanted foundations make any direct storming terribly costly. Even after Sauron’s armies have been beaten in the field, strong garrisons of Orcs and other fell creatures still hold its towers and gates, and the spells laid upon its stones by Sauron’s own hand add an unseen barrier to the iron and rock. The allies know that as long as the One Ring remains on Sauron’s hand the Dark Tower cannot be utterly toppled, only battered, so the aim of the siege becomes to weaken his forces, cut off his movements, and draw him out into the open where he might be faced in person. “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age” tells that the siege lasts for many years, which shows how stubborn the defense is, and how carefully the Alliance must apply its strength to avoid being broken upon the fortress they seek to destroy. In this time the black walls of Barad-dûr stand like a constant challenge to the besiegers, reminding them that no easy road leads to victory.

The defenses of Barad-dûr are more than simple stone walls, for Tolkien speaks of iron gates, great towers, and watchful eyes that keep the armies of the Alliance at a distance, while sorcerous barriers make sudden assaults dangerous and unpredictable. Sauron’s servants stage sorties from postern gates and hidden tunnels, launching sudden attacks at the siege lines to burn engines, cut supply routes, and kill captains before withdrawing behind their black ramparts once more. Shadowy creatures and dark powers known only in hints, such as the Nazgûl in later days, may have had their earlier forms in Sauron’s service during this time, adding fear and confusion to the night. The siege becomes a war of attrition around the base of the Dark Tower, where hope is worn away by constant skirmishes and the sight of the unbroken fortress looming overhead. Even so, the allies hold their lines and answer each assault, matching Sauron’s grim endurance with their own, for they know that if they retreat now there will be no second chance to break his strength.

To press the siege the armies of Gil-galad and Elendil build their own siege-works around Barad-dûr, raising earthworks and wooden towers, digging trenches, and bringing forward rams and engines to batter the outer defenses while archers and spearmen guard against the sudden appearance of dark hosts. Elven-lords such as Elrond and Círdan lead companies in swift counterattacks when Sauron’s forces attempt to break out, cutting down Orcs and evil Men before they can cause lasting damage, while the Númenórean captains organize rotations of troops so that weary warriors can rest. For year after year this grim pattern continues, with small gains and losses traded beneath the looming heights of the Dark Tower, and the lands around it are churned into a desolate battlefield of scorched earth, broken engines, and unburied dead. Tolkien’s brief account suggests that many unnamed heroes fall in these struggles, their deeds remembered only in the fading songs of later ages. Yet the siege-works slowly creep closer, the outer curtains of defense are pounded and cracked, and the iron will of the besiegers keeps tightening the noose around Sauron’s stronghold.

The siege reaches its terrible decision when Sauron at last resolves to come forth in person, and on that fateful day Gil-galad and Elendil stand against him in single combat upon the slopes near Barad-dûr, for they know that only by facing the Dark Lord himself can they hope to end the war. “The Silmarillion” records that Sauron comes out in great might, and though he is one alone his power is such that he is like a mountain of fire and darkness, so that only the High King of the Noldor and the High King of the Dúnedain dare to meet him. The battle between them is not described blow by blow, yet its outcome is clear and tragic, for both Gil-galad and Elendil are slain in the struggle even as they cast Sauron down. Their deaths show the heavy price of victory, because the leaders who united Elf and Man must give their lives to break the visible form of their enemy. Around them the armies of the Alliance and the servants of Sauron clash in a final desperate struggle, while the Mountain of Fire looms above, bearing silent witness to the end of an age.

Though Gil-galad and Elendil fall, their sacrifice is not in vain, for with their aid Sauron is overthrown and his great body is cast down, broken and unable to rise again, yet his being is not wholly destroyed while the One Ring endures. Tolkien writes that Sauron’s spirit flees and his power is much diminished, but he remains bound to the world through the Ring in which he has hidden much of his native strength. The battlefield falls still as his surviving servants scatter or are slain, yet the question of what to do next hangs heavy over the victors, because they know that this defeat will not be final if his greatest weapon is allowed to remain. The death of the two kings also leaves a sudden gap in leadership, and it is in this moment of both triumph and grief that Isildur, Elendil’s son, steps forward to decide the fate of the Ring. Thus the climax of the siege shifts from the field of open combat to the small and personal act that will determine whether Sauron’s fall is complete or only a pause in his long war against the West.

In the aftermath of Sauron’s overthrow Isildur takes up the hilt-shard of his father’s broken sword, Narsil, and with its splintered blade he cuts the One Ring from the Dark Lord’s hand, an act that at once destroys Sauron’s bodily form and breaks the power that has sustained Barad-dûr. “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age” explains that when the Ring is taken the Dark Tower falls, for its might was rooted in the power Sauron put into that golden band, and without it the fortress cannot stand whole, though its deepest foundations remain. In that moment the sky above Mordor clears somewhat, and the armies of the Alliance see their chief enemy vanish from sight, leaving only ruin and a sense of emptiness where his presence once pressed upon their minds. The splintered sword that cuts the Ring will later become a symbol of kingship when it is reforged as Andúril for Aragorn, but at the time it is simply the weapon of a grieving son finishing the work his father began. With the Ring severed from its maker, the visible rule of Sauron in the Second Age comes to a sudden end.

Yet even in victory a shadow falls on the hope of Middle-earth, for instead of casting the One Ring into the fire of Orodruin as Elrond and Círdan advise, Isildur chooses to keep it as weregild for the death of his father and brother, claiming it as his own by right of conquest. Tolkien tells that he writes a scroll describing the Ring and its markings, which he sees when the letters of fire appear to him, but he does not heed the warning that clings to its beauty and weight. This decision, made on the very edge of the Cracks of Doom, begins a long chain of consequences, because as long as the Ring survives Sauron’s spirit can slowly gather strength and seek for it again. The Elves know that a great chance has been thrown away, and they depart from Mordor with heavy hearts, aware that the peace to come will be watchful and incomplete. Isildur’s choice shows how even the noblest of Men can falter when faced with the lure of power, and it casts a long echo that reaches all the way to the days of Frodo and the Fellowship in the Third Age.

With Sauron’s body destroyed and the Ring taken from his hand, the immense structure of Barad-dûr cannot stand as it once did, and Tolkien notes that the Dark Tower is thrown down, its walls broken and its mighty battlements cast into ruin, while its armies are scattered or slain. Orcs and other creatures who depended on Sauron’s direct command fall into confusion, some fleeing into the deep places of the earth, others hunted down by the victors in the wreckage of Mordor. The plains that once echoed with the tramp of his legions now lie still, scarred by siege-works, pits, and heaps of rubble where towers once rose against the sky. Yet even in ruin the memory of Barad-dûr remains strong, because the foundations of the fortress, bound by the power of the Ring, are not wholly destroyed and may endure for ages as a dark mark upon the land. The sight of the shattered tower stands as both a sign of hope fulfilled and a reminder of how close Middle-earth came to falling under one will.

Isildur’s refusal to destroy the Ring means that this victory, powerful as it is, remains incomplete, and Tolkien makes clear that Sauron’s spirit does not pass out of the world, but lingers as a bodiless malice that cannot yet take shape. The Ring itself becomes both lost and sought, for after Isildur is slain in the Disaster of the Gladden Fields it falls into the River Anduin and vanishes from history for many centuries. In this hidden state it continues to work subtle harm, drawing creatures like Gollum under its spell when it is at last found, and it whispers into the darkness, calling to its master who slowly gathers strength in secret. The peace that follows the Siege of Barad-dûr is therefore uneasy, and the Wise who remain in Middle-earth keep watch for signs of Sauron’s return. The end of the Second Age is thus not a final ending of evil, but a long pause during which the consequences of one man’s choice slowly unfold.

Out of the ashes of war new realms arise, especially the Númenórean successor kingdoms of Arnor in the north and Gondor in the south, which Elendil and his sons had already founded before the siege but which now stand as the chief bastions of Men in the West. After Elendil’s death Isildur becomes High King, though his rule is brief, and later the northern and southern kingdoms grow apart, each facing its own struggles in the Third Age. Gondor in particular takes over some of the watch on Mordor, building towers and fortresses such as Minas Ithil and Minas Anor to guard against any return of evil out of the east. Meanwhile the Elves begin to fade, for though they have won a great victory, their losses are heavy and many of the Noldor are weary of war and sorrow, choosing instead to sail west over the Sea or withdraw into hidden realms. Tolkien shows that the triumph at Barad-dûr marks both a high point of alliance and the beginning of long decline, as the power of Elves wanes and the kingdoms of Men must bear more of the burden of defending Middle-earth.

The Siege of Barad-dûr does not arise suddenly, but is the outcome of a long chain of earlier events in the Second Age, beginning with Sauron’s mastery of deceit and ring-lore, the pride and later fall of Númenor, and the slow corruption spread through the Rings of Power. When Sauron first comes in fair form to Eregion he sets the stage by teaching the Elven-smiths arts that they do not fully understand, planting seeds of dependence that he later tries to harvest through the One Ring, while at the same time he works in secret among Men in distant lands. Númenor’s kings, turning away from the Valar and becoming jealous of death, fall into arrogance and eventually into open defiance, which allows Sauron to take them in a trap when Ar-Pharazôn brings him as a captive to the island. There he overturns the wisdom of ages and leads Númenor to ruin, so that only the Faithful escape to found Arnor and Gondor, bringing with them both sorrow and a fierce will to resist him. The siege is thus the final act in a long drama of pride, betrayal, and survival, in which the Rings of Power are tools that twist the path of entire peoples.

Chronologically the siege stands at the end of the War of the Last Alliance, which itself ends the Second Age and opens the Third, and Tolkien’s “Tale of Years” marks this clearly, giving dates for the founding of Arnor and Gondor, the battle on Dagorlad, and the years of the siege around Barad-dûr. With Sauron’s bodily overthrow and the fall of his Dark Tower, the great cycle of Númenórean history closes, for the last heirs of Elendil now rule in exile rather than over a mighty sea-empire, and the world moves into a time when the deeds of Elves and Men slowly retreat into legend. The political map of Middle-earth is reshaped, with Gondor rising to early strength along the Anduin while Arnor faces fragmentation and decline, and the Elven realms become quieter and more hidden. Sauron’s absence from open war allows other dangers to grow, such as the power of Angmar in the north, yet always there remains the fear that he will one day return. Thus the end of the siege marks not a simple peace, but a shift into a new age in which the memory of this great war shapes the choices and fears of many later rulers.

From a literary point of view the Siege of Barad-dûr gathers many of Tolkien’s central themes into one vivid event, showing the terrible danger of overwhelming power, the high cost of hubris, and the fragile hope that can grow only through alliance and sacrifice. Sauron’s creation of the One Ring is the clearest image of the desire to control others absolutely, and the vast fortress of Barad-dûr rising out of Mordor is that desire made visible, heavy and oppressive. Númenor’s fall and Isildur’s later refusal to destroy the Ring both show how even noble hearts can be twisted by pride and by the wish to keep what should be surrendered, turning victory into a seed of future sorrow. Yet at the same time the Last Alliance demonstrates what can be achieved when old grudges are set aside, as Elves and Men together endure years of hardship to throw down a power that none could have faced alone. The deaths of Gil-galad and Elendil show that such victories demand real loss, but their sacrifice allows later generations a chance at redemption, which is finally fulfilled when another small figure stands at the edge of the same fire and makes the choice that Isildur would not.

In Tolkien’s account, after the siege ends and the Ring is taken from Sauron’s hand, Barad-dûr lies in ruins, its towers broken and its walls cast down, yet its very foundations, forged and bound with the power of the Ring, endure hidden for centuries as a dark mark in the heart of Mordor. Though no armies now march under its banners, the place where the Dark Tower once stood remains avoided and feared, a place of jagged stones and silent pits where the wind moans through the wreckage. The memory of Sauron’s tyranny clings to those foundations like a stain that cannot be washed away, and even when his spirit later takes shape again in the Third Age, it is to this same region that he returns and upon these old bases that he rebuilds. In “The Lord of the Rings” Sauron’s later Barad-dûr is raised anew, “great and terrible,” using the very groundwork that was never wholly destroyed, proving that the scars of the Second Age are never fully healed. Thus the ruined tower becomes both a monument to past victory and a seedbed for renewed evil.

The battlefield around Barad-dûr also holds many signs of the great conflict, for Tolkien speaks in other contexts of fields like Dagorlad and the Dead Marshes where bodies and gear remain long after the war, and it is easy to picture similar remnants near the Dark Tower itself. Broken spearheads, rusting helms, and shattered siege engines would have littered the ground, half-buried in ash and dust, while the earth itself was scorched and torn by fires, trenches, and the fall of mighty stones from the collapsing fortress. Even if later winds and small plants slowly changed the surface, the deeper marks of war would remain, visible to any careful traveler as unnatural hollows, fused glassy rock, and heaps of unworked stone. In such a place the very soil seems to remember the clash of armies and the death of kings, and those who pass by in later ages would feel, as Frodo and Sam do in other haunted places, that great deeds and great sorrows once took place there. The land becomes a silent storyteller, holding the memory of the siege for those who have eyes to see.

Like many ruins in Tolkien’s world, the remains of Barad-dûr and its surrounding battlefield serve as both a warning against the hunger for power and a temptation to those who still crave it, for what has once been filled with great strength often draws the ambitious back. The broken foundations of the Dark Tower remind the Wise that evil, once allowed to root itself deeply, is hard to uproot completely, and that even a great victory can leave behind places where darkness more easily returns. At the same time, the knowledge that Sauron once wielded enormous might from this very ground can attract dark-hearted followers who dream of rebuilding his empire, as indeed happens when he rises again in the Third Age and gathers new servants to him. The ruins therefore carry a double meaning, holding both the memory of courage and sacrifice and the lingering risk that such power might again be claimed by one who does not fear its corrupting touch. In this way the desolation around Barad-dûr stands as a physical symbol of Tolkien’s belief that the consequences of evil choices remain long after the first actors have passed from the world.

Within the broad sweep of Tolkien’s legendarium the Siege of Barad-dûr stands as one of the defining mythic events, a chapter that shapes the histories, noble lineages, and later conflicts that readers see in “The Lord of the Rings” and beyond. The deaths of Gil-galad and Elendil at the very moment of victory leave their peoples changed forever, setting Elrond on the path to become master of Rivendell and making Isildur’s heirs into wandering chieftains rather than ruling kings. The glory and sorrow of the Last Alliance echo in songs and tales remembered by characters centuries later, from Aragorn’s recitation of ancient verses to Elrond’s grave warnings about the Ring. Politically, the outcome fixes the pattern of the Third Age, with Gondor standing as the main shield of the West against Mordor and the Elves slowly withdrawing, while the shadow of Sauron’s unfinished defeat hangs over every council of the Wise. Thus the siege is not only a grand battle in the background, but the source of many of the conditions and burdens that shape the story of the Fellowship.

The themes expressed in the siege also influence later storytelling inside Tolkien’s world, for the pattern of a mighty tyrant’s fall, the lingering danger of his tools, and the uneasy peace that follows great war repeats on different scales through the ages. Sauron’s overthrow at Barad-dûr mirrors in a lesser way the earlier downfall of Morgoth and foreshadows the later fall of Saruman, each time showing how the lust for domination twists a once-great being into a figure of ruin. The One Ring, saved by Isildur and lost in the river, continues to act as a source of corruption and conflict, drawing Gollum, Bilbo, and later Frodo into its web, so that the Third Age becomes in many ways an echo of the unresolved business of the Second. The fragile peace after the siege, in which Men and Elves must remain watchful, resembles the uneasy calm in Gondor before the War of the Ring, where stewards rule in place of kings and always fear some new rising of darkness. Tolkien thus uses the siege as a great model of how even a seemingly final victory can leave behind seeds of future stories.

Scholars and readers often trace clear lines from the Siege of Barad-dûr through “The Lord of the Rings,” noticing how the fate of the Ring in Frodo’s time repeats the old danger on a smaller and more personal scale, and how the choices made at the end of the Second Age cast long shadows into the Third. Elrond’s account at the Council in Rivendell directly recalls his presence at both moments on the brink of the Cracks of Doom, when Isildur refuses to cast the Ring away and when Frodo is given the task that must now be completed. The broken sword Narsil, that once cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand during the siege, is reforged as Andúril, Flame of the West, and carried by Aragorn in the final war, tying his claim to kingship to his ancestor’s deed and offering a kind of healing to the old failure. The renewed assault on Mordor in the War of the Ring, smaller in numbers but great in courage, echoes the march of the Last Alliance, yet the focus shifts from vast armies to the quiet heroism of a few small travelers. In this way the memory of Barad-dûr’s first fall deepens the later tale, reminding the reader that great evil often requires more than one generation, and more than one kind of hero, to face it and finally bring its story to an end.