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Chapter Text

The Journey Begins With a Promise

     The cursed magic of the Witch-king’s barrier cast a sickly green glow on the high stone walls of a once beautiful city that had reflected the light of the moon and sun. Minas Morgul was eerily quiet, asleep and unmoving barring one lone figure. Talion found himself standing in front of the barrier, almost entranced by its hum and energy. Taking a shaky breath in, he raised a trembling hand until it was a hairsbreadth away. As he slowly reached forward, it passed through without difficulty or injury, and he jerked it back, glaring at the appendage as if it had wronged him. This had become a rather common occurrence. His routine walks through the city (designed to let his feet wander and take him as far away from the tower as possible) somehow always ended here, with the same moment repeating every day without fail.

     A part of him still marveled at how the energy welcomed rather than shunned him, strengthened instead of weakened him. There was a familiarity to it that made his skin crawl in both disgust and a curiosity he just couldn’t shake. He was more Ringwraith than man now. He’d known that for a long time. Some days it felt like he’d forgotten what it was like to be mortal, but it was a small comfort to know that despite what he’d become, there was still something left of him inside.

     He turned away from the barrier and back towards the city, gaze drifting over the damaged, formerly rubble filled streets. Uruks and Ologs had worked diligently on repairs (something, Talion admitted, he hadn’t noticed until recently), and it was slowly starting to look like how he remembered it. The city was proud once, bustling with life: Castamir, Idril, Baranor, countless people and families, all once dwelled here. It used to be bright. And that word made his heart clench painfully because of who it reminded him of.

     Celebrimbor.

     The wraith had betrayed him, called him nothing more than a vessel, taken back the Ring and abandoned him for Eltariel, for a mere chance that Sauron could be dominated and put under his control. Talion had watched their futile attempt and inevitable demise from the palantir, sensed the shift of power in the air that followed with a bitter and heavy heart. He couldn’t be sure of Eltariel’s fate, but one thing he was sure of was that Celebrimbor was alive.

     Perhaps it was the shard of his soul within the New Ring, something neither he nor Celebrimbor had expected at the time of its forging, that assured him. Perhaps it was through sheer willpower alone that he had convinced himself. But Celebrimbor was alive, fighting with everything he had left. Despite his betrayal, despite everything Talion had had to endure since then—every sacrifice, every moment of guilt and regret, every piece of his soul that he lost and could never get back, every venomous word the Witch-king hissed in his ears no matter where he went—he could not turn his back on the wraith, not after everything they’d been through together. Talion would find him, and by whatever means necessary he would free Celebrimbor and end Sauron once and for all.

     And when all was said and done? He and Celebrimbor had much to discuss. There was one thing in particular that had plagued his heart and mind for longer than he could remember, but Talion couldn’t bear to even consider it at the moment.

     The sound of swift caragor steps drew his attention back to the present as a familiar Uruk quickly dismounted and kneeled at his feet.

     “Speak, Amug. You are a long way from your stronghold,” Talion addressed him, just suppressing a shiver at his distorted voice, which felt less and less like his own the more he heard it.

     “My lord, I bring news of events beyond the walls of Mordor. The One Ring has been found.”

      The One Ring? He couldn’t deny that a strange power had begun calling to him from afar at some point, but he’d thought little of it then. How long ago had that been? Days, weeks, years? He had lost all sense of time.

     With wide eyes, he asked, “What more do you know?”

     “The one who possesses it hails from a land called The Shire, far west of here. The other Nazgûl have already left to retrieve it.”

     Talion’s eyes flashed the color of flames for a moment as his temper flared.

     “I am no Nazgûl, ” he growled, and Amug quickly began blubbering apologies.

     “Mercy! Forgive me! I didn’t mean anything by that, my lord! I swear!”

     Talion’s eyes returned to their normal steely blue hue after a few moments. He took a deep breath.

     “You and the other overlords and warchiefs will bring me any more news of the One Ring or the Nazgûl,” he commanded.

     Amug nodded frantically and clambered back onto his caragor with a, “Yes, my lord! At once, my lord!”

     Talion watched him disappear out of the city before his gaze fell to the Ring currently resting on his finger. Isildur’s Ring. If the One Ring had been found, then Sauron would be the first to know, and if Talion wanted to truly defeat him, it would have to be destroyed. This, however, was not a task that could be done alone. As loath as he was to admit it, Eltariel had been invaluable in his and Celebrimbor’s conquest of Mordor and knew the Nazgûl better than most. If anyone could be of help, it would be her. The ending of the battle atop Barad-dûr had spelled nothing but her disaster, and Sauron would not have just allowed her to walk away, so Talion would free her from the fortress and she would come with him on his quest to find the One Ring. She at least owed him this.

     Without hesitation he prepared to set off towards the Dark Tower, daring Sauron to stand in his way when he arrived.

XxX

     Leaving the city was a breath of fresh air. Though his appearance remained unchanged, Talion felt his mind clear the farther away he got from Minas Morgul. Mordor blurred below him, the familiar landscape nothing but shapeless swirls to his eyes. His faithful drake companion, Luinil, carried him past a menacingly bubbling Mount Doom, and before long Barad-dûr was in his sights. Immeasurably tall, dark walls and towers reached high into the clouds where the Flaming Eye shone brightly in the almost pitch black sky. Talion leapt down and landed lightly on his feet before Barad-dûr’s wide open gates. It was strange to him that no new orcs approached, that none swarmed him in an attempt to protect their master. With cautious, yet determined steps, Talion drew Urfael and slowly made his way inside.

     Sinisterly elegant and eerily quiet, decorative designs of unknown origin adorned the interior as far as the eye could see as ancient dark magic permeated the air, infesting the deepest depths of the fortress. What truly set Talion on edge was how the enormous hall looked untouched from the battle that had raged in it. Thousands of Uruks and Ologs had died, and yet there wasn’t a single corpse in sight. There were no signs of fighting, no marks left by swords, axes, or arrows, not a single drop of blood. The only thing out of place was a familiar elven bracer that held a rune of light by four short, golden chains sitting at the foot of a giant winding staircase at the hall’s center. Talion carefully picked up the Light of Galadriel with a conflicted frown before tucking it away and beginning the long climb upwards.

     Stray, weak beams of moonlight cast twisted shadows around him, the echoing of each step upon the winding stairs making his heart beat just a little faster, until it felt as though it might burst out of his chest. Flashes of Celebrimbor and Eltariel’s battle with Sauron replayed in his mind as he made his way further up the tower. The clang! of a sword on armor, the crackle of light and magic, the whizzing of spectral arrows, the whispers of Black Speech and Sindarin viciously warring with one another as Sauron and Celebrimbor’s war of wills began in a blur of cyan and scarlet…

     He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It would not bode well to be caught unaware and distracted.

     Soon, he stopped in front of a set of heavy engraved doors, and he steeled himself for what he might find on the other side. Pushing them open with a bit of effort, he emerged at the top of Barad-dûr, greeted by the sound of ravenous flames, a grim view of Mordor, and a figure in chains lying in a heap not far from the tower’s edge. Rushing over to her, Talion turned Eltariel towards him, taking in her pale, weak form, damaged armor, and eight fingers. Her left hand held two fleshy stumps where her ring finger and pinky used to be—where the New Ring used to be. Talion’s eyes scanned their surroundings until they settled on it lying just out of her reach. As he gently picked it up and tucked it away, she shifted ever so slightly, tired eyes slowly cracking open.

     Her vision swam until she could focus on the figure above her, a strikingly familiar man , if that’s what he still was. Eyes the color of flames, black veins spider-webbing across his face, armor as dark as night, tattered cloak of shadow and ruin pulled over his head: he was not as she remembered him, but his identity was unmistakable. Eltariel’s eyes widened with recognition, and what Talion thought was regret, as she looked at him.

     “Talion? But… how?” she asked hoarsely. “Y-You were—”

     “You have a bit of a habit of killing me to save me, don’t you?” he asked in response, holding up the hand that held Isildur’s Ring.

     Her face fell then, and she turned away. Gathering her strength, she spoke as steadily as she could.

     “Then you are a Nazgûl now. Have you come to condemn me, to say your farewells?”

     “No. My will is my own. My fate is my own. I would no sooner serve Sauron than I would slaughter you here and now,” he told her adamantly. “I’ve come to rescue you. I need your help.”

     “After all that I’ve done, you would free me? After leaving you to die and losing the ring to Sauron?”

     “I admit that leaving you here to suffer is a bit tempting, but I am not that far gone. Galadriel sent you to hunt the Nazgûl, and I’d like to give you another chance to do that. Another Ring of Power has surfaced, and they have already begun pursuing its bearer. I am powerful on my own, but I cannot defeat them alone.”

     “So you need me, to use to your ends and hunt down the very thing you are becoming.”

     Talion bristled at her words and the weak, bitter laugh that followed them.

     “I am offering you a chance at freedom to hunt down a common enemy, to keep other places in Middle-earth from suffering the same fate as Minas Ithil!” With a powerful strike, the magical chains holding her clattered to the ground with a faint glow. Eltariel sat up gingerly, wincing as she felt the pain of sore, unused muscles and untreated injuries. “You will come with me.”

      “Oh, going so soon?”

     The new voice sent chills racing down Talion and Eltariel’s spines as they looked around, Eltariel in alarm and Talion with dangerous intent.

     “Show yourself!” he demanded as he took a few steps forward, Eltariel’s warnings falling on deaf ears.

     “No, Talion! Don’t—”

      “Ah, but why ruin the fun, Blade of Galadriel?” the voice told her. Bright energy flowed downward from above the entrance to the tower, where the Flaming Eye used to be, settling into the form of a breathtaking elf in strangely plain robes. Talion saw his predatory smile and the fire in his eyes, felt the dark energy that encompassed his entire being. Knuckles white from his vice-like grip on Urfael, he and the elf circled each other, never once taking their eyes off the other. “Hello, Talion,” he greeted him.

     “Sauron,” Talion spat. “You will not stand in our way.”

     “And why is that, Gravewalker?” he asked, mocking the title Talion had earned. “What reason have I to stop you from leaving?”

     Sauron had paused across from him, gesturing to the entrance back into the tower.

     “I—W-What?” Talion lowered his sword and froze, back at Eltariel’s side, glaring at Sauron with narrowed eyes. “What game are you playing?”

     “No game. Call it… amusement. Call it intrigue. So far, you have fought against the corruption of your ring. I’m impressed that you’ve managed to retain a part of yourself for this long. But sooner or later, you will fall. You will become mine. When that time comes, I shall be waiting for you.” In an instant, he was barely an inch from Talion, a hand on his shoulder as he spoke softly into his ear. “Let us see how long the Ranger of the Black Gate can fight the darkness within.”

     As he went to pull away, something in Talion made him grab the hand on his shoulder, securing it there. There was an energy within Sauron that felt familiar, an unmistakable presence.

     Without the power of the One Ring or the Ring-maker, he cannot take form, a voice in his memories spoke. His voice.

     Daring to hope, daring to reach out, Talion whispered desperately, “Celebrimbor?”

     Sauron’s eyes widened, form flickering as he pulled back and clutched his head with his free hand until it was taken over by the wraith Talion had spent so long fighting alongside, who he knew better than he knew himself. A pained and exhausted Celebrimbor met Talion’s relieved eyes.

     “Talion,” he whispered in disbelief, not caring about the Nazgul-like attire his former companion now donned, nor the dark energy and magic surrounding him. “You came back.”

     “I had hoped… I wasn’t going to lose you, not again.” 

     Celebrimbor groaned as Sauron viciously fought to regain control.

     “After all that I have said… After what I did—”

     “The ring corrupted you, changed you. You were not yourself,” Talion reasoned. “You didn’t see what you were becoming…” He shook his head. “I was angry, and I am hurt, but I will not abandon you. I will never abandon you.”

     Celebrimbor gazed at him with awe and guilt, and as he felt his control slipping, he asked the question burning him from the inside out.

     “But why?”

     Talion took his other hand, the hand that would’ve held the New Ring, gently in his.

     “You know why, and when the time is right I shall have the strength to say it. I will free Middle-earth from Sauron’s influence and I will return for you. I promise!”

     Celebrimbor let out a harsh breath, out of shock and realization, and it was then, as his form flickered back to that of a temporarily stunned Sauron, that Talion scrambled away, sweeping Eltariel up into his arms as he called forth Luinil. Sauron recovered just in time to see the two disappear over the tower’s edge before Luinil flew past in a blur, letting out a mighty roar as she took them away from his fortress. He slowly rose to his feet, a pained grimace soon giving way to a dark chuckle. What excitement! Celebrimbor still had strength after all, and so too did Talion.

     “Let it be war upon you both!” he shouted with ecstatic energy.

     His voice echoed across all of Mordor and his chuckle carried upon the wind, form fading into the Flaming Eye once more.

XxX

     Uruks and Ologs gathered and stared curiously at the mass of green Ringwraith energy emanating from Talion upon a battlement of Nurn’s stronghold.

     Talion panted heavily from all the magic he was using, dangerously close to resorting to necromancy. Eltariel had fallen unconscious a few minutes before they’d landed, nearly tumbling off Luinil’s back before he grabbed and held her in a secure grip. He’d quickly and gently set her down when they arrived, the smooth, sun-warmed stone a sharp contrast to her cool, clammy skin. He was no healer. He had no idea what he was doing, but as he closed his eyes and reached out, he held onto the sign of life he found as tightly as he could and refused to let it go. Magic foul enough to make him gag clung to her entire being, and he worked to combat it, to drive it out and to mend what damage it had caused. The magic from his ring would not be much better, but it was his, not Sauron’s, and it was meant to heal, not hurt. The process was a struggle at the beginning, but it gradually became easier.

     When he and Celebrimbor had been bound, he’d gained the ability to sense and use magic. He’d retained the ability with Isildur’s Ring. Magic felt different depending on who was using it and for what purpose. Celebrimbor’s always felt warm, like sunlight, sometimes even like the flames of a campfire. It was confident but not overbearing, powerful but gentle when needed. Warrior. Leader. Protector. Those were words that came to mind when he thought about Celebrimbor’s magic.

     Sauron’s magic sent an icy shot of dread down Talion’s spine. It was full of evil, selfish, malicious intent that made his stomach tie itself into knots. For some, it probably filled them with an almost overwhelming sense of hopelessness and fear. For Talion, it stoked the fires of his anger and betrayal, of his want of revenge. Tyrant. Deceiver. Manipulator. That’s what Sauron’s magic made him think of.

     He kneeled at Eltariel’s side for many hours, purging the harmful magic from her body. The more time passed, the less likely it seemed that she would wake. A wave of guilt and frustration swept over Talion then, and he looked down at her broken form in concern. He would not fail to save another life. To his relief, her eyes fluttered open for the briefest of moments not long after, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He tried to look reassuring, and her eyes slowly slipped shut at that. Eltariel’s once faint heartbeat grew steadier, her labored breathing evening out, though the pained grimace on her face remained. When she felt stable enough and as close to normal as he could get her, he wrote the Quenya rune cuivië upon her skin, whispers of an ancient, long forgotten magic falling quietly from his lips. He finished with a weary gasp, vision swimming and body throbbing from exertion.

     It took everything he had not to wretch up the contents of his near empty stomach. His skin crawled at the phantom echoes of Sauron’s magic, at the way he’d had to wrestle with his own. The ring on his finger had seemed almost happy to greet the presence of its master, had fought his healing attempts until Talion imposed his will upon it, quashing its defiance and turning against Sauron’s magic with a vengeance. He leaned against the wall next to him and waited for the nausea to pass.

     When he felt more like himself, he stood, reaching into a pouch at his side for a familiar object. The New Ring glowed comfortingly under the moonlight, and he held it gently, almost reverently…

      Talion felt Celebrimbor’s memory of his battle with Sauron fade from his mind, the barrows of Minas Ithil greeting him as he returned to the present. A familiar magic hummed in the air as wraith blue flames flickered, softly lighting the stone surrounding them.

     “The new Ring—our Ring—is not marred by his shadow. It is perfect.”

     Celebrimbor’s features were not twisted in anger or obsession as he spoke of the ring, not like they had been in Shelob’s lair. His voice was low, almost gentle now, and it took a surprised Talion a few moments to respond.

     “I know,” he whispered. “I can feel it. You said you poured your life force into the ring… As did I.”

     When they had forged the New Ring, Talion had let Celebrimbor lead. What he knew of magic came from their connection, and so when magic was being used it felt only natural to do as Celebrimbor did, as familiar then as it was in the heat of every battle. It was not his intent to give a part of himself to the ring, but thinking about it now, what was one more shard of his soul when Mordor had taken so much of it from him already?

     “You wanted to forge the ring for the sake of Middle-earth, to defeat Sauron and his evil, to bring light back to lands he cursed to darkness. You believe so strongly in the cause that you gave a part of your very being to bring it to life.” A small, genuine smile graced Celebrimbor’s lips as he told him, “That is why it is perfect.”

     Celebrimbor’s words from long ago echoed in his mind, the New Ring pulsing with a comforting warmth at the memory. It should be so easy, then, to simply exchange the rings, place the New Ring upon his finger and hide Isildur’s Ring away for destruction at a later date. And yet…

     He reached for Isildur’s Ring, fingers barely grazing its flame colored gemstone before his hand stopped of its own accord. And risk it falling into someone else’s hands, condemned to the same kind of fate he’d been living for decades? Risk a new Nazgûl rising to take Isildur’s place? Risk the power to dominate minds, to manipulate and control undeath, to raise an army or slaughter anyone that stands in their way, falling into the hands of another? Someone dangerous, weak-willed, unworthy?

     A wave of possessiveness swept over him at those thoughts, and he flinched, sighing and letting his hands fall back to his sides.

     Talion remembered battling Isildur, seeing his memories of before, during, and after wearing his ring. He had watched his great triumph and eventual fall. Breaking Sauron’s hold over him and dominating his mind had taken a lot out of Talion, and he shuddered at the thought that that could be him one day. Perhaps at one time he wouldn’t have given a second thought to swapping the rings, but time—however long of whispers and visions of possible futures from the Witch-king, other Nazgûl, and Sauron himself—had taken its toll. He replaced the New Ring in his pouch before turning to watch the sun rise with a troubled heart.

XxX

     Eltariel awoke several hours later as a chilly breeze blew, contrasted by the warm rays of sunlight shining above her. Sitting up, she looked around to find herself surrounded by orcs, some working, training, feasting; the stronghold she was in was alive with activity. Metal walls protected the exterior, while siege beasts, caragors, varying orc troops, warchiefs, and traps were scattered about the interior, a fire drake roaming overhead.

     “You’re awake,” Talion acknowledged from a few steps away. “I was beginning to think you were lost to us.”

     Gingerly getting to her feet, Eltariel took in lush green land bordered by bright blue seas and a clear, cloudless sky. It had been far too long since she’d laid eyes on anything other than fire, ash, and destruction. She vaguely remembered flying through the air, Talion keeping her steady as it got harder to stay conscious, hate, despair, and hopelessness devouring her from the inside out.

     “I should have been. I was so sure that I…” She shook her head to stop that train of thought, leaning heavily against a wall. “And now we’re here, in…?”

     “The stronghold in Nurn,” he responded. “When the darkness seems to close in on me, when I feel as if I’m losing myself, I come here. Where there is endless life and light, there is hope.”

     Eltariel did not expect the wistful tone of Talion’s voice, but as she observed him she found his eyes still as blue as ever, the skin of his face untainted from darkness, if a bit pale. On the surface, he looked like the man she’d first encountered many years ago, and yet she knew that would change with time. Black veins, glowing red-orange eyes, and, eventually, a helm that would forever take his identity from him, would appear. He seemed to know what she was thinking as he turned to her with a grim look.

     “There may come a day when you will need to strike me down, but that day is not today. Today is the day we make preparations to leave.”

     “To leave? Leave Mordor? Our mission is not yet done!”

     “Your mission and my mission are not the same. My mission is to free Mordor of Sauron’s influence so that Middle-earth has a chance of survival should their last line of defense against darkness fall. I cannot do that without destroying the One Ring. Your mission is to hunt down the Nazgûl, and they are not here. Both of our missions lead us far away.” The slight growl in his voice and the flicker of flames in his eyes left no room for argument. “So yes, we are leaving Mordor. There is a land called the Shire where the bearer of the One Ring is said to live. The Nazgûl will have received word before us, so it will be impossible to overtake them if we don’t leave soon.”

     A tense silence fell between them. She was so used to the faceless creatures with distorted voices and dark intentions, who either didn’t remember or didn’t care to remember who they used to be. Talion was like she remembered, but there was a new turmoil within him that was impossible not to notice. Every word and movement seemed to weigh on him, and it was clear that Isildur’s Ring held more power over him than he wanted to admit.

     “How long will you be able to fight it?”

     “As long as I need to,” Talion told her determinedly. 

     “And how much of yourself are you willing to lose in the process?”

     “As much as it takes. If the destruction of my one insignificant soul will save the rest of Middle-earth, then so be it.”

     Eltariel could hear no falseness in his voice, see no deception in his eyes. His selflessness, his willingness to face more danger to save innocent lives, remained. It was admirable, if a bit naive and self-destructive, but it had accomplished what she could not. Talion had broken Sauron’s hold over Isildur, had freed him from the shackle of his Ring and granted him a true death. Never in all her years of hunting the Nazgûl had she accomplished that. She reluctantly accepted the fact that, as much as she disliked the idea of relying on Talion so heavily, she couldn’t complete her mission without his help.

     “When will we leave?” she finally asked, and she saw Talion almost smile.

     He took something out of his pouch, her eyes widening when she realized it was the Light of Galadriel. He carefully held it out to her, and she took it with less than steady hands.

     “Meet me at the gates at first light tomorrow. There are a few things I need to take care of in the meantime.”

     With a nod she watched him go, mingling with the orcs as he went. Briefly looking out over Nurn once more, she carefully climbed down and set about finding provisions and beginning preparations for their departure. What little energy she’d regained upon waking dissipated the moment her feet touched the ground again, and she steadied herself against the nearest sturdy object as she waited for the world to stop spinning. When her vision returned to normal, she was surprised to see a handful of orcs at her side. The quieter, more level headed orc of the bunch was the one who asked if there was anything they could do for her. Her perplexed stare was met with earnestness and genuine concern, and it took her a few moments to recover before she gave them an answer.

     “A bath. I… I’d like to take a bath,” she replied in a voice smaller and quieter than she liked.

     A year’s worth of blood, grime, and trauma would not be washed away in one day, but getting physically clean was at least a start. A few minutes later, she was led to a secluded, dimly candlelit room in the back of the fortress, a large wooden tub filled with steaming water set to one side, along with a fresh set of clothes, a rag, a hairbrush, and several scented bottles. She bit back questions of why orcs would have any of those items on hand before attempting to remove her armor. Her body protested the movements, still too used to lying in a chained heap, and more than one hiss of pain left her lips before a rough and gnarled hand gently swatted hers away and took its place. On instinct, Eltariel attempted to leap out of the way, instead tripping over her own feet and nearly tumbling to the ground if not for the firm grasp on her shoulder. She met the amber eyes of the orc keeping her steady with an unreadable expression, forcing herself to relax in his grip.

     “You are still injured. Let me help you.”

     The orc’s voice was gravelly and low, his discerning eyes softening slightly as they remained fixed on her.

     “It is soreness, nothing more. I can do it myself.”

     Her frustration and embarrassment were unmistakable, though she made no movements to stop him.

     “The bodies of Elves heal quickly, especially with magic. The mind is a bit trickier.”

     The sharp reply on her lips died almost immediately at those words. She cast her eyes down to her three fingered hand. A year would normally feel like nothing to an elf, but the year she had spent atop Barad-dûr had felt like a millennium. She had woken up bound and weaponless, magic chains that sapped her strength remaining rigid and unbending no matter how often she struggled or bashed them against the ground. Different orcs brought her what she assumed passed for food in Gorgoroth each day, just enough to keep her alive. Any sign of resistance or escape attempts always resulted in a few blows to still and silence her, normally followed by force feeding and a few choice words before they would take their leave. Today would have been one year since she and Celebrimbor had battled Sauron and lost.

     And the nightmares…

     Sauron was an ever present figure in her sleep. Often he would toy with her, preying on her worst fears no matter how deeply she thought she had buried them. Twisted memories and visions of futures unmade plagued her mind the moment her eyes slipped shut from exhaustion or pain without fail: the slaughter of parents she could barely remember and the soul rending loneliness that followed in the days of helpless wandering; waking up in chains to dark, mocking laughter and the sentence of lifetime imprisonment; the sight of Lothlorien turning from gold to black as each leaf and person died and withered to dust while she was powerless to stop it; a banner of chaos marching across Middle-earth with Celebrimbor and the New Ring at its head. New nightmares were always manifesting. There was never a moment to rest.

     Even though the Flaming Eye was constantly at war, it would sometimes fix its gaze on her when she was awake, and she could almost see Sauron’s evil grin as he whispered in her ear.

     The mighty Blade of Galadriel. Look how far you’ve fallen.

     Was it worth it? The end that you fought for? Was it worth leaving your only chance at victory, a good and honorable man, to die?

     Do you think the Lady of the Golden Wood would be proud of you for heeding the call of power instead of reason?

     You have chosen your fate, and now you must live with it until the end of days.

     “There is no shame in fear or weakness.” Eltariel didn’t notice she had begun trembling until the orc had removed the last piece of her armor, leaving her in a shirt and pair of pants that would be better burned than cleaned. She looked up from her hand, but didn’t meet his gaze. “Your armor and weapons will be cleaned and repaired. You can visit the forge master for them when you are finished here.”

     The orc left without another word, the closing of the room’s door ringing loudly in the uncomfortable silence. She quickly finished undressing before slowly and carefully lowering herself into the hot water with a sigh of relief. She allowed herself a few brief moments to sink fully into and under the water, enjoying the comfortable warmth. She selected a bottle that smelled of honey and spice and poured a decent amount of it onto her rag and into the tub. Eltariel took her time scrubbing her body, untangling and washing her matted hair and thinking about anything other than the task set before her by Talion. Hot, crystal clear water became murky and tepid as she gently washed scarred skin and hair colored brown from dirt, soot, and ash. If only washing away guilt and shame were as easy.

     It had been so long since she’d been offered a choice, a life changing choice that was hers alone to make. The power to rival and defeat the greatest evil in Middle-earth was within her grasp if only she had the courage to reach out and take it, take it and all of the visions it granted her: Sauron, mind broken and helpless to resist Celebrimbor’s will; the enemy forces of Mordor crumbling to nothing as peace returned to the land; Lothlórien safe and unharmed; herself, relinquishing the duty of Blade and finally being able to rest, perhaps even sail; going home . The possibility of defeating Sauron once and for all with her own hands, of being able to return home after so many years of fighting a seemingly unkillable enemy, had her discarding any sense of right and wrong, action and consequence. That choice had cost her, Celebrimbor, and Mordor their freedom.

     That choice had almost cost Talion his life, but when he’d had the chance to abandon her to her fate and return the favor, he had chosen to save her. He could have left her at the top of that tower. He could have left her to die, or perhaps taken her life as revenge. He could have embraced his ring and joined the very enemy he wished to eliminate, but he hadn’t done any of those things. And yet, she had given into the call of a Ring in mere moments and disregarded all that Talion had done, watched him choke on his own blood while telling him that his death, his sacrifice , wouldn’t be in vain.

     She had failed, and he’d saved her anyway.

     She had strayed from her mission, her purpose, herself. She had left her honor on that bridge, and she no longer knew what remained except for crushing remorse.

     Eltariel dried herself off and dressed quickly and cautiously in the plain yet comfortable forest green tunic and pants that had been provided for her. She shivered as her bare feet met the cool, smooth stone floor, putting on clean socks and boots soon after. She took her time brushing her hair, putting it in a low ponytail and making sure she looked halfway presentable and put together before making her way back outside to the stronghold courtyard. Eltariel took in the sight of a caragor rider orc squadron in combat training, foot soldier patrols reporting in, messengers scrambling between buildings, and a pot of stew being cooked and stirred over a fire, until she laid eyes on a forge.

     The orc using the forge was covered in piercings—around the eyes, through the nose, under the bottom lip, all along the ears—and wore a lightweight vest and pants. Her red-brown skin and long, white mohawk braid were reflected in the newly polished and undented silver of Eltariel’s armor, her steady hands sewing the rips in its forest green fabric. Eltariel’s sword and dagger rested in their sheaths on a stone table behind her, the Light of Galadriel glittering in the heat of the forge’s faintly burning coals.

     “I am Kolgrin,” the orc told her as she approached, gray eyes still fixed on the needle and thread in her hands. “Your armor will be finished shortly.” Another orc set a large bowl of stew and a goblet of water on the weapons table as they passed by, and Kolgrin gestured to them. “For you. I was told you had an eventful journey.”

     Eltariel had many questions, but simply nodded and accepted the food (rabbit and vegetable stew, she noted as she took a hesitant first bite) and drink. She let the sounds of the stronghold wash over her as she enjoyed her first warm meal in far too long, bowl and goblet empty in no time. When food and drink no longer occupied her attention, she debated on whether to ask what was on her mind. Kolgrin smiled at her and spoke again.

     “Orcs have resided in Mordor long before the recent wars of Middle-earth. There are a few of us left from the ancient tribes, and the Gravewalker offered a home to us when he gained power here. Most of my companions remained in hiding underground with their young, away from the fighting, as many generations before us have. Our females do not usually train for war, but I did not want to sit idly by while there was more important work to be done in the defense of our lands.”

     “Ancient tribes?”

     “I am of the Machine Tribe and come from a long line of blacksmiths. You’ve seen some of our warriors fight with chained hooks. We specialize in building, forge work, fortifying…” Eltariel sat and listened for a while as Kolgrin told her more about the cultures of the various tribes of Mordor, and of Mordor’s Uruk and Olog-hai as a whole. The more she heard, the less unfathomable the idea of orc civilizations—with families, economies, social structures, and traditions—seemed. The setting sun was low in the sky when Kolgrin said, “You have quite the road ahead of you. Perhaps you should rest for the night.”

     “Perhaps. I… Thank you.”

     For fixing her armor, for the talk, the kindness. It had been a strange day, even by Eltariel’s standards. Kolgrin nodded her farewell, another orc leading Eltariel to a surprisingly well kept guest room. On the nightstand next to the large bed sat a pack filled with food, medicinal herbs, and a waterskin. Setting her armor and weapons next to it, she kicked off her boots and wrapped herself in the bed’s simple blanket, falling into a restless and fitful sleep.

XxX

     Talion made his way into the main hall of the stronghold where his overlords awaited him. Prior to leaving Minas Morgul, he had sent a messenger to each of them, calling a meeting in Nurn. Amug, Skak, Ur-Edin, and Bruz stood in the back of the throne room. Amug and Skak kneeled at his presence, Ur-Edin nodded respectfully, and Bruz grinned hesitantly.

     “It’s been a while, boss. Need any head smashing done, or is this a business call?” Bruz asked a bit cheerfully.

     “Business, I’m afraid.” He gestured for the other two to rise. “I’ve called this meeting to alert you all that I will be leaving Mordor for a time, and I need you to ensure that our strongholds endure until my return.”

     “What calls you out of Mordor, if I may ask, my lord? Surely nothing too dangerous?” Skak asked, his dire caragor curled up asleep behind him.

     Talion let a small smile grace his lips at his most trusted overlord’s respect and concern.

     “The Nazgûl are on the move, and they’ve discovered the location of the One Ring.”

     “Is your ring not enough? Is it more power you seek?” Ur-Edin questioned.

     “Oh, hush up!” Amug told the Olog overlord. “When has he ever done anything for power? Unlike some of us.”

     “If Sauron is to be defeated, the One Ring must be destroyed, and Mordor must be held,” Talion replied, ignoring the bickering. “Nurn is the heaviest fortified of the strongholds and Cirith Ungol is under Shelob’s watch. I worry most about Seregost, where Uruk and Olog resistance is the strongest, and Gorgoroth, where the Dark Tower looms too close for comfort.”

     “We’ll bolster our defenses,” Ur-Edin assured. “Our enemies won’t even be able to come near us.”

     “And we’ll keep watch to the north. Maybe our graugs wouldn’t mind a little hunting party alongside the caragors,” Bruz commented. “Of course, assuming anyone would care to lead them and not just let them run loose. As fun as seeing all that destruction would be, we would lose part of our attack force. And that’s assuming Mount Doom doesn’t burn us all alive…”

     Talion rolled his eyes at Bruz’s statements, though he couldn’t help but be glad that the Bruz he’d first met was slowly but surely returning.

     “Then I leave Mordor in your hands. When next you see them, inform our allies of my departure. Treat them as you would me and provide them with anything they ask. They are vital to our success.”

     “We shall not fail you,” Skak replied adamantly.

     His words were joined by three agreeing warcries. Talion grinned as he left the stronghold hall, calling Luinil and riding off towards Cirith Ungol. There was one more person he wanted to visit before he left, and he was sure she had the answers he needed. In what felt like no time at all, Talion found himself traversing the tunnels leading to Shelob’s lair, his footsteps reverberating through the giant, dimly lit underground cavern when he finally arrived. His ears were met with the scuttling of spiders as he approached a slumbering Shelob, hood down, weapons sheathed, and questions burning in his eyes.

     Perched high above the ground in a small cave, she stirred after a rather troubled sleep, sensing the presence of another within her tunnels. Her eyes found Talion’s as she drifted down to him.

     “So you have come. Do you know what you’ve done, Talion?” Shelob asked. “Your future is changed. The future of Middle-earth is changed. This quest you insist on completing will make you responsible for more than just the lives of orcs and the people of Mordor.” Her solemn eyes fell to Isildur’s Ring on his finger. “And you will be burdened beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.”

     She met his determined gaze as she silently touched down in front of him.

     “I’m aware of what’s at stake, Shelob. But I need to know… will I succeed? Will I remain myself before this nightmare is over, and after?”

     A deep frown settled on her face as she answered, “I do not know. Your fate is uncertain now, and I have not yet seen how your rewritten story ends.”

     “Show me what you know then,” Talion pleaded. “Show me what is to come.”

     With a sigh, she did as he asked with the lightest of touches to his forehead.

      A company of four small beings, neither man nor dwarf or elf, hides in terror from a Nazgûl on their way to a nearby town. Two are terrified and one looks in concern to another, who stares at a peculiar feeling ring, contemplating it with shaky hands. The One Ring.

     A group of Nazgûl blocks the company, now also consisting of a man, from moving forward. As they seem about to overwhelm them, a great fireball blasts them back, and two figures—one cloaked in darkness and the other in light—drive them back before the waters surrounding them rise up and wash them away. The mysterious figures turn toward the company. The figure of light is Eltariel. The other figure is himself, and as he sheaths his sword, face hidden by a hood, his eyes glow a fiery red-orange.

      Elves, dwarves, men, and the small beings gather together for a great discussion in a lush and beautiful realm. The small being who earlier held the Ring presents it to the group, eliciting shock, awe, and fear. Eltariel is seated beside another elf, staring at the One Ring with purpose. In the corner, away from the others, Talion stands with eyes fixed on the ring hanging around his neck rather than the one he wears on his finger.

     The company of eleven now approaches a set of large, intricate stone doors on a dark, moonlit path. A man, old yet wise, translates the elven inscription upon it. Talion runs his hand reverently over a door, familiar with the work, and the ring around his neck glows fiercely at his proximity to it.

     “Celebrimbor,” he whispers softly.

     Talion found himself waking up on the ground with a gasp, head spinning as he reviewed all the new information he’d just obtained. Silently thanking Shelob for the vision and receiving a whispered, “Go safely, Talion,” he returned to Nurn as the sun began to set to finish preparing for his departure.

XxX

     After gathering any supplies he thought he would need, Talion and Skak then discussed several matters relating to Nurn and the rest of Mordor late into the night before he took up his usual spot along the walls of the stronghold, letting his mind wonder about all the people he’d be leaving behind. Idril, Baranor, Torvin, even Ratbag: it had been far too long since he’d seen any of them. He hated the idea of something happening to them in his absence, of returning to find his friends dead, or worse. They were risking their lives to help him every day, and he had no idea how Mordor would change once he and Eltariel left. And what of the orcs that willingly followed him, the slaves he’d liberated from enemy camps, the creatures he’d befriended, the small settlements of free folk he’d sworn to protect? For all the horrors he’d endured here, Talion very much disliked the thought of leaving everyone he’d brought together without knowing when he’d be back.

     It was these thoughts that lingered with him into the early morning. He was met by Eltariel as he arrived at the stronghold gates, color returned to her skin and armor in much better condition than it had been in the day before.

     “I was starting to think you’d left without me. Sunrise is upon us.”

     “As I said, there were things that needed to be taken care of,” he replied, noticing her improved appearance. “You look well.”

     “It amazes me that orcs can be… disturbingly polite,” she told him with a contemplative look. “They clothed and fed me, repaired my armor, offered…” She frowned, conflicted. “I suppose comfort is the right word? It was jarring, to say the least, but not unwelcome.”

     “They are humble and loyal allies for the most part, a strong and enduring people. I would expect nothing less from them,” Talion responded quite proudly. He made no comment about the haunted look he noticed in her eyes as he asked, “Are you ready to go?”

     She nodded, and they fell into step as they left the stronghold, a passing orc patrol waving to them as they went.

     “How are we to travel? On your drake, perhaps?”

     “For a time, yes, but she, like any other creature, will require rest and sustenance.”

     As Talion called forth Luinil, Eltariel noticed the blue tipped and white speckled wings, not red and gray like others she’d seen, and was surprised that there was no sign of domination or forced control when she looked the creature in the eyes. She climbed up after Talion, settling behind him as Luinil took off. As the sun began its ascent in the sky, Eltariel cast her eyes down to look at the landscape below, blurred green, gray, brown, and blue as it passed swiftly behind them.

     Talion became lost in his thoughts once more, Shelob’s vision weighing on his mind. All the while, he held onto the New Ring, hidden from sight by his armor as it hung on a chain around his neck. It comforted him, reminded him that there would always be a bit of light with him no matter how much the darkness tried to consume him. There were parts of his and Celebrimbor’s souls in the ring, and that alone was enough to give him hope.

      I will return for you, Celebrimbor. I promise.

Translations

(Q): Luinil → Blue Star

Chapter Text

Connected

     An eerie quiet fell over the Gorgoroth camp as its captain’s severed head rolled to a stop at Baranor’s feet. The rocky, volcanic terrain and the sight of Mount Doom were almost comforting after the long and perilous journey he’d embarked on over a year ago. The Gondorian captain cleaned his blade before slipping it back into its sheath, retracting the shield of his Númenórean gauntlet and wiping the sweat from his brow.

     “All this lava almost makes me miss the desert.”

     Baranor looked to his older brother, Serka, who was eyeing a smoking orc corpse in mild disgust.

     “I would face flaming graugs over were-wyrms any day,” Baranor replied, repressing a shiver at the memory that brought on.

     He’d lost a lot of good men during his journey through the Lithlad desert plains, and he knew the levels of destruction they could cause. The rubble remains of Shindrâm Fortress were proof enough of that. He would not miss the dangerous, arid, sandy landscape any time soon.

     “On that, we can agree.” Serka took in the orc carcasses scattered around the camp’s supply crates and stocked tents with a frown before addressing the Vanishing Sons with a bright and upbeat demeanor. “Alright, men, you know the drill! Let’s see what the orcs have so graciously gifted us!”

     Ever since Baranor and Idril had reunited after the fall of Minas Ithil, they had made it their mission to free and assist any enslaved and imprisoned men and orcs alike. Rather than make for Gondor or other civilizations outside of Mordor, many people had decided to stay and build homes, both in defiance of Sauron’s rule and as a way to help others who passed through the area by providing safehouses, infirmaries, and a comforting presence to any who might need it. They lived under no king or ruler, no government or set of laws, except for the agreement to help one another and any that they were able to. Serka had agreed to aid the cause after the destruction of Shindrâm changed his original plan of conquering fortresses in Mordor, especially after being told that they (Talion) controlled four others already. Most of what they took from the camp would be delivered to the nearest settlement, not quite an hour away.

     “Thank you for doing this,” Baranor told him softly.

     Serka grinned, walking over to him and clapping a hand on his shoulder.

     “It pays well, gives us plenty of things to kill, and gets us hero treatment in a grand fortress owned by Mordor’s most powerful warrior. What more could you ask for?” Cries of triumph and agreement rose up from the mercenaries as they attended to supplies. Serka lowered his voice so that only Baranor could hear him. “We’re doing good work here, better than what we were doing under that overlord. Besides, do you really think I’d let my danger seeking baby brother go a second time? Give me a little more credit than that.”

     Baranor chuckled.

     “I am glad it was you I met in that camp, Jagai. I don’t know where I’d be right now without you.”

     “Now now, Warad, no need to get all teary eyed and sentimental on me.” The pair watched the mercenaries work for a few minutes in companionable silence before Baranor noticed the grim expression on his brother’s face. “It’s been too quiet out here lately. Something’s wrong.”

     Baranor sighed.

     “I know.”

     Mordor was usually crawling with activity no matter where one went. Gorgoroth was normally overflowing with orcs, especially closer to Mount Doom and Barad-dûr. The fact that they had seen so few as of late was troubling. The dwindling number of orcs and camps should have been encouraging, but it had quite the opposite effect. They were all more than a little on edge.

     “What are you thinking?”

     “I was gone for longer than I like. I don’t know all of what happened in my absence.” Baranor looked to Gorgoroth’s stronghold in the distance, an idea springing to mind. “We should see if Bruz can shed some light on the situation, and then there’s something I’d like to try.”

     “Ah. I can already see a grand plan forming in that big skull of yours. Let’s hope it works as well as your last one. But try not to burn down our fortress, yes?”

     Baranor shook his head with a fond smile.

     “Let’s help the men round up whatever’s left. The settlement’s on the way there.”

     Serka watched Baranor check in with a group finishing up supply inventory with both curious and proud eyes, reminding himself to ask his brother more about his time here when they had a free moment.

     Free moments had been hard to come by lately.

     Sometimes, Idril needed the reminder to rest. Too often her feet would begin to drag, hunger and exhaustion gnawing at every step, before she would come to a stop for the day. Much the same was the group of fiercely loyal Gondorian soldiers and formerly enslaved orcs and men who followed her into every battle and rescue, inspired by her fearless leadership, kindness, and unyielding will. Idril had lost count of the amount of labor camps they’d emptied and the number of people that had joined their efforts; it felt as if their work would never be done. Six years had passed since she and Baranor had vowed to work together to help the people of Mordor. Eleven years had passed since the fall of Minas Ithil, the devastating loss of their home.

     On this particular day—as the sun began to set on the gray landscape of rocky cliffs and paths of dirt, mud, and sparse clusters of grass—it was the piercing cries of creatures that stopped her in her tracks. The tall metal gates of the Cirith Ungol stronghold opened to them in welcome, but she didn’t notice at first, gaze fixed on the circling swarm of fire drakes roaring in the distance and the packs of caragors gathered as far as the eye could see, the ground shaking from the shrieks of graugs outside of their caves.

     “They’ve been on edge lately. I guess that’s what happens when the Gravewalker’s not around.”

     “Talion’s gone?” Idril questioned, turning to find an anxiously pacing Amug.

   “Left a few days ago on official business: locating the One Ring,” came the answer.

     “The One Ring?!”

     Idril slumped in horror at the thought of Talion involved with more Rings of Power. What little he’d shared of the struggle with his own was more than enough to worry her, much less the most powerful of them all. That statement sapped all the energy the group had left, and Amug gestured for them to come inside before shouting orders to have food prepared for guests.

     “The Nazgûl are after it. He left to make sure they won’t take it back to the Dark Lord.” Amug wilted at the thought. “I’ve lived under that banner before, and I’m not going back, even if the Gravewalker is a bit scary sometimes.”

     Idril’s expression softened at that.

     “We’ve all seen the horrors of Mordor, Talion most of all. After what he’s been through, it’s no surprise that he can seem frightening at times.” She smiled softly. “But he is a good man and a good friend. You need not fear for your life as you did with Sauron.”

     Amug visibly relaxed at her words and the sight of her smile, pushing open the doors to what looked like a mess hall and taking a seat at a long, rectangular, wooden table. Idril and her men joined him, taking a collective deep breath now that they knew they’d have a decent place to rest and a warm meal for the night. It would be a relief to greet a ceiling instead of an ominous, ashen gray sky, and to sleep in an actual bed instead of on the ground. The smell of burning firewood and hot food eased some of the tension in the room. A pair of orcs swept through with cups of water and the beginnings of a meal.

     “Mozfel’s famous rabbit stew! You pink skins are in for a real treat!” one of them claimed.

     At the cautious, uneasy looks some of her men were giving the stew, Idril blew on her steaming spoon and took the first bite. Her face lit up at the flavorful, yet simple dish, and it wasn’t long before the entire table was happily digging in. A few minutes later, she turned to Amug as she was finishing her bowl.

     “My men and I thank you for your hospitality…?”

     “A-Amug the Ruinous.”

     Idril nodded in acknowledgement. 

     “Thank you for your hospitality, Amug.” He nodded back after a moment. One of the orcs from earlier asked if she wanted seconds, and she politely declined before he took her dishes away. Worry returned to her, though much less overwhelmingly than before, as she asked Amug, “Now, what can you tell me about Talion’s quest for the One Ring?”

     “The Nazgûl have set out in search of the One Ring, and our lord has decided to pursue them. He departed a few sunrises ago with the she-elf.”

     Skak took in the bewildered looks of the trio of Torvin, Ratbag, and Az-Harto as he explained what they’d missed in the past few days, eyes roaming Nurn from the top of the gateside wall. The normally peaceful atmosphere was now uneasy and tense, and the land was far too empty of enemy orcs for anyone’s liking. Even Carnan stirred restlessly at the change.

     “Without saying goodbye? What kind of friends don’t drop by to say goodbye before leaving on a long trip, huh?” Ratbag asked. “Can you believe this?”

     “I’ve never known our dear captain to do anything without a reason,” Torvin replied. “He briefed the overlords before going because if he’d taken the time to track us all down and let us know, do you honestly think he’d catch up with those faceless bastards?”

     “Ah, fair point. Fair point. Could’ve at least left a note or something, though.”

     Az-Harto grunted in exasperation, rolling his eyes at the statement.

     “See? Ranger agrees with me!”

     Skak turned to face them, rubbing at the temple on the side of his head that had an axe sticking out of it as he felt a headache coming on.

     “The Lord Talion was more concerned with protecting our strongholds and our settlements while he would be gone. We’ve been bolstering defenses and gathering more troops for when the rest of Mordor discovers he has left for the time being.”

     “Chances are they already know. The beasts have been anxious all day, and none of the patrols have reported seeing much of anything else out there.” Torvin fiddled with the Númenórean gauntlet on his hand with a grimace. “I almost prefer the wyrms and the marauder orcs to all this quiet. You’d think Uruks and Ologs would be jumping at the chance to attack us!”

     “He thought they might take the opportunity to regroup and build their numbers, strategize and take advantage of the effects of his absence before attacking. His presence has held Mordor together for many years. Without it, there’s a chance that everything he’s built could fall apart.”

     All the strongholds, settlements, alliances, and liberated land gone in one fell swoop. The four shivered at the thought.

     Skak glanced over at his restless dire caragor, attempting to soothe her. Torvin’s return a few months ago had done wonders for the amount of creatures guarding the stronghold, and it had been surprisingly fun to teach each other different beast taming techniques. Now it seemed that the dwarf’s expertise was needed now more than ever with how skittish and cautious they were being. He couldn’t imagine what the other regions were like at the moment. Ratbag and Az-Harto had traveled all over Mordor, spreading misinformation and chaos throughout enemy ranks wherever they could, and gathering intel on warchief and captain strengths, weaknesses, and resources. They’d finally made their way back to Nurn after too close of a call in Seregost prompted Ratbag to suggest a vacation to a nicer, warmer, less dangerous region.

     “It’s the unrest that’ll hit the lads first. Some will be shaking so much just thinking about facing an unstoppable army that they’ll run at the first sign of big trouble. And if our numbers drop while theirs grow…”

     Torvin let his thought hang in the air between all of them, not keen on finishing it. That made the current situation a little too real. Skak sighed resignedly, his dire caragor giving a soft trill before finally settling at his feet.

     “Best not to think too much about that yet. All we can do right now is wait and prepare.”

XxX

     Leaving Mordor had been harder than Talion thought it would be. He wouldn’t call it home by any stretch of the imagination, but it had become more familiar to him than any other place in Middle-earth. He knew it intimately, better than anyone, and as much death and despair as the land held, goodness and hope were present as well. There was an unexpected ache in his chest as he watched the deep, crystalline waters of the Sea of Núrnen give way to war ravaged land, fields of lava and destruction, and then the familiar rocky landscape of Udun. The Black Gate came into view in the distance, and with it lands that he hadn’t laid eyes on or stepped foot in in decades.

     Talion had made preparations to leave Mordor prior to Eltariel’s rescue, mapping out their course to the Shire and refamiliarizing himself with the various regions, cities, and settlements outside of Mordor. The maps he’d studied had been obtained by one of his orc captains, who had borrowed them from a ranger patrol a few days' journey away, along with a few reports to be sent to Minas Tirith. Not much had changed in what he learned had been seventy eight years. Almost eight decades had happened in what felt like the blink of an eye. It seemed like only yesterday when he had been saying farewell to Hirgon, to Lithariel and Queen Marwen. Sixty-seven years it had taken him to hunt down and eliminate the Black Hand of Sauron, and eleven years after that between the fall of Minas Ithil and Eltariel’s rescue, if his math was correct. An entire lifetime had happened since that stormy night atop the Black Gate, and he didn’t know if he would ever come to terms with that. That was something to ponder another time, however.

     After visiting Shelob, he discovered that he and Eltariel would meet the company at the Ford of Bruinen near Rivendell, a city not far from where Eregion used to be. When Eltariel had asked him how he knew where they were going and what to expect, he hesitantly revealed part of Shelob’s vision to her. She was, understandably, wary, and not for one second satisfied with what she was hearing. Both of them could tell that an argument was brewing, the tension between them only increasing in the several hours since their departure from Nurn. As the sun began its descent, Eltariel stewed in her thoughts until she could no longer hold her tongue. Sitting atop Luinil, their argument about when to introduce themselves to the Ring-bearer and his companions was awkward but no less heated than usual, both facing front and holding onto scales and spikes as wind whipped and threatened to unseat them with strong gusts.

     “A direct approach is foolish, Talion. You would reveal us to potentially hostile beings and leave us vulnerable to the Nazgul’s attacks. We need to plan our approach carefully, gather information and reveal ourselves when the opportunity presents itself.”

     He looked back over his shoulder to respond.

     “And when, exactly, will that be? No. Approaching them and making our intentions clear from the start is the best way to gain their trust and offer them better protection, not hiding in the shadows and stalking them like prey.”

     “Because you’re plenty experienced with that,” she drawled sarcastically.

     He glowered at her before planting his feet firmly into Luinil’s back to turn his body around. She protested with a screech, and Talion patted her scales in apology as he rounded on Eltariel.

     “I will not give the bearer of the One Ring any reason to think us enemies! If he decides we are a threat, what do you think he and his allies will do? Elves, men, dwarves, it matters not. I will not allow you to hinder us on this quest.”

     “Hinder us?” she questioned, eyes narrowing as she tried not to lose her temper. “Keep us safe, you mean? Keep us from recklessly charging into dangerous matters that don’t concern us?”

     “You agreed to accompany me,” he reminded her lowly.

     “To hunt the Nazgûl, as was my mission, and to make sure you don’t join them—”

     “I won’t—”

     “So you say, but I see how you struggle: the ring claws at your conscience every waking moment with promises of Middle-earth at your fingertips. What’s to say being in close proximity with the One Ring won’t make it worse?”

     “Is our entire journey going to consist of you telling me you will never trust me?” Talion snapped, irked.

     Eltariel took a deep, steadying breath in, letting it out slowly.

     “It is not a matter of trust. I know you are not my enemy, and I know that you wish to do good, but running headfirst into a situation you know little to nothing about is a foolish plan no matter how powerful you are.” She grimaced at that. “We need to take a safer approach to this.”

     She watched the anger and annoyance seep out of him with every word she spoke. He sighed.

     “We will never be safe so long as the Rings of Power and the Nazgûl exist. I understand your concern, but I wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t know what I was doing. Any time we spend scouting means more time for the Nazgul to gather power and strike a killing blow. I would not see the Ring-bearer come to harm because of our hesitancy to act. ”

     Before she could respond, there was an ear-splitting shriek as a molten boulder collided with Luinil, sending her spiraling through the air and disappearing over the Black Gate as Eltariel and Talion tumbled to the ground. Talion grabbed Eltariel as the ground rushed up to meet them, feeling his dark magic absorb most of the impact from the fall. He landed heavily on his feet, one arm around Eltariel while his other reached for Urfael. She quickly disentangled herself from Talion as the two faced quite the gathering of orcs and a fiery graug that seemed intent on either crushing or burning the two of them alive.

     “Manswine!” one of the orcs shouted over the excited roars of the others around him. “Think you get to leave Mordor without a little goodbye from yours truly? Well, think again! Don’t tell me you were just gonna fly by and forget about us Uruks down here?”

     “You will regret delaying me, Narug,” Talion growled, hands glowing emerald, a black haze beginning to surround him. “And it will be the last mistake you ever make.”

     With inhuman speed, Talion shadow struck a handful of orcs—a few of which rose again with glowing green eyes and unintelligible growls—before he found himself on top of the graug, a hand pressed to its massive head as he willed it to obey him. With a mighty roar, the creature fell under his control, and he turned it towards his old rival with fiery red-orange eyes. With little more than a thought, the graug charged after Narug. As Talion leapt down, he caught a stunned Eltariel’s arm and sprinted in the opposite direction towards the Black Gate, allowing a small smile at the shrill scream that sounded behind them. When she got her bearings back she wrenched her arm from his grasp, free-running beside him, surprised that it was she who was having a hard time keeping up with him . She observed his slowly fading red-orange eyes with unease, the way he winced and clenched the hand with Isildur’s Ring, which seemed to eerily glow as he did so.

     As they reached the Black Gate, Eltariel purposefully fell behind to watch Talion as he slaughtered his way through the small army of orcs that guarded the entrance to Mordor. His attacks flowed seamlessly, flawlessly, and in no time he had cleared a path to the top of the gate. She caught up to him as he stood frozen in the place where he had defeated the Black Hand of Sauron, surely reliving a few unpleasant memories. Talion trembled, darkness clouding his vision.

      We shall be sealed together in death!

     Talion, my heart. We will be together soon. Forever.

      The Black Hand of Sauron is dead. The Hither Shore is calling us.  

      The time has come for a new Ring.

     A familiar roar in the distance brought Talion out of his memories, and he shook the last of them away as he turned to face Eltariel.

     “We should go to her, then we must continue on.”

     His eyes were distant, she noticed. Perhaps hers would be too if she had to relive the sad fates of those she cared about, if she allowed herself to dwell on such things. Not waiting for a response, Talion easily leapt down from the top of the gate while Eltariel climbed down as quickly as she could. Once they were both back on the ground, Eltariel followed Talion, who quickly made it to Luinil’s side, voice gentle.

     “Easy there, girl. You’re alright.” He tenderly felt around the area of the graug’s earlier attack, which had caught her side and a lower part of her wing. It didn’t seem too serious, but it looked painful enough to keep her grounded for the time being. Luinil huffed at his tone, but gently headbutted his armor nonetheless, drawing a small laugh out of him. “Rest, and find us when your strength returns,” he told her softly.

     She drew back with sharp aquamarine eyes, a soft rumbling in her throat, before looking to Eltariel with a glare of warning. Eltariel met the fire drake’s stare in both confusion and wonder before looking back to Talion, who had just summoned two caragors, one dire and one normal, with a wave of his hand and the flash of his ring. They stopped a careful distance from Luinil, who paid them no mind. Mounting the caragors, the two rode away from Mordor at a brisk pace, heading towards the Dead Marshes.

     “We should go around. As much as I hate traveling in the open, the Dead Marshes are not a place I would like to sleep for the night.”

     “Sleep?” Talion asked, suddenly hyper aware of himself.

     “ Yes, Talion, the action that allows those of us who are alive to regain much needed energy. When it becomes too dark to see, we should settle for the night and continue when dawn is upon us.”

     Talion tried to remember when the last time he’d settled down to sleep was, when the last time he truly needed to sleep was. How long had it been? Decades? She took in his shocked expression with confusion.

     “What is it?”

     “I… I don’t sleep anymore. I don’t need it.”

     Talion didn’t understand the weight of those words until he heard them aloud from his mouth, and he realized that he’d lost another part of himself. With Celebrimbor, his basic needs had remained the same at first, but over time the need for food, drink, and sleep became less and less, until he could go without them. Granted, he still regularly ate and slept for a time, so that he at least felt normal, but he didn’t really need it. The last time he’d voluntarily sat down for a meal and caught a few hours of sleep had been before Isildur’s Ring, before the betrayal, before the last stronghold fell under his control. Really thinking about how long it had been since he’d done something so simply mortal and normal had him glancing down at his ring, which seemed to mock his inner turmoil.

     Eltariel watched Talion react to his own words with a pang of pity.

     “How fortunate for us then,” she stated, though without her usual bite.

     The conversation trailed off after that, the air awkward and strained between them. When the caragors tired, dragging their powerful legs along the ground, and Eltariel struggled to keep her eyes open, they stopped for the night. As she laid down, the caragors settled around her protectively, with Talion closing the gap they left, effectively blocking her from view. With a nod in silent thanks, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, followed swiftly by the caragors.

     Talion sighed, laying back and folding one arm underneath his head as his other hand played absentmindedly with the New Ring hanging around his neck. This was going to be a long night. He let his mind focus on the sleeping breaths of his companions, the quiet sloshing noises of marsh water, the sound of tall grasses and the leaves of shrubs dancing in the breeze. Were they anywhere else, he would almost describe their surroundings as peaceful, and the thought was enough to make him huff softly in laughter.

     He turned his gaze to the stars as he fell quiet, and the ache from earlier in the day returned. Stargazing had been a favorite pastime of his and Celebrimbor’s, something they had bonded over early in their time together. The stars here were different from the ones in Mordor, but a beautiful and soothing sight nonetheless. The New Ring glowed with warmth and comfort around his neck at that, and it grew to envelop his entire being. Slowly, Talion felt his eyes droop, not fighting his body as sleep finally overcame him.

XxX

     Celebrimbor felt his consciousness return as he squinted against the bright light around him, harsh to his eyes after all the time he’d spent trapped. Odd. His heated battles with Sauron were usually just the two of them locked inside a dark, endless abyss of scattered memories, vying for control, the air heated and stifling from hatred. But here and now light beckoned him awake, and a comforting warmth embraced him as he stood. He let out a harsh breath as he took in the sight of healthy forests framed by tall mountains and rushing waters. The ground beneath his feet and the land around him was untouched by darkness and war, a sight he didn’t know he would miss so much until he was here.

     But where was here, and how was he here?

     Similarly, not too far away, Talion was yawning awake, feeling more like himself than he’d felt in a very long time. Slowly sitting up and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he looked at the beautiful landscape around him, welcoming the sun’s warm rays. Despite finding himself in a strange place, he couldn’t help but feel calm in his new surroundings. As he got to his feet, he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby pool of water. He was dressed in familiar armor that he hadn’t worn since before Barad-dûr, steely blue eyes staring back at him. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, breath catching in his throat.

     “Celebrimbor?” he asked in disbelief.

     Their eyes met, and before either of them knew it they were locked in a tight embrace, Talion burying his face in Celebrimbor’s hair.

     “Talion . How are we here?”

     They pulled back just enough to be able to look at each other’s faces.

     “I don’t know, but I won’t question it. We’re both here, together… alive, even.”

     “Alive?”

     Talion raised a hand to sweep a few of Celebrimbor’s ebony locks of hair in front of his face with a gentle smile and bright eyes. Looking down at himself, Celebrimbor saw that he was no longer the wraith he knew he had become, but the elven lord he had been in his lifetime. His blue and silver battle armor gleamed in the sunlight, skin the color of cream and hair as dark as the night. He turned back to Talion, who looked more like the man he’d first met after his death, free of any dark influence. A relieved laugh escaped Celebrimbor as the information sunk in. He felt a pair of hands cup his face, and he once again met Talion’s eyes. His gaze seemed almost reverent now, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to look upon such a sight.

     “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” Talion told him softly. 

     Celebrimbor flushed in surprise at the statement before reaching up to grasp Talion’s wrists, attempting to lower his hands.

     “Forgive me,” he responded sadly, voice racked with guilt. “I have caused you so much suffering and pain in my quest for vengeance. I was not myself. Or perhaps I was entirely myself, a culmination of all the feelings held deep down that I refused to acknowledge until it was too late.” He shook his head. “Regardless, I have harmed you and betrayed you in countless unforgivable ways.”

     Talion sighed, resisting Celebrimbor and keeping his hands exactly where they were. This side of Celebrimbor was softer, less guarded, less angry and cold. There was a kindness and gentleness to him that had been rare during his time as a wraith, but every action still held strength and an unshakeable, ethereal grace and certainty that no man, dwarf, or other being could ever hope to match. Celebrimbor’s expressive eyes were as blue, bright, and deep as the Sea of Núrnen, and they held so much pain and regret. And fear. Never had Talion seen such a look on his face as a wraith, and it struck fear in him as well.

     “What’s done is done, and I harbor no ill will towards you,” he told him softly.

     Celebrimbor averted his eyes, the honesty and intensity in Talion’s overwhelming.

     “I am not deserving of your praise or your forgiveness.”

     Talion drew his gaze back as he gently stroked one of Celebrimbor’s cheeks with his thumb. He brought their foreheads together, and the two rested there with their eyes closed for a while, just enjoying the closeness. How often had Talion dreamed of moments like this: of being able to hold Celebrimbor like this, to feel his breath on his lips, the way soft stray strands of hair tickled his face, the solid, real skin to skin contact that seemed impossible not too long ago? How many thousands of years had Celebrimbor been trapped in Mordor, cursed to wander a land of darkness for eternity, invisible and intangible to most? Talion inhaled the sweet scent of holly, contrasted by the sharp tang of metal, smoky embers, and ink on fresh parchment, and it took him several attempts to get his voice to work properly after that, tears pooling in his eyes and a lump forming in his throat.

    Celebrimbor was equally in shambles, experiencing a sensory overload as his mind registered everything in full color, in full scent, taste, and sound. It dawned on him then, as he committed Talion’s light and loving touches to memory, that Talion was still here. He was still holding him, soaking it all in just as much as he was. After everything that had transpired in Mordor, Talion had run to him and not away from him, had pulled him close instead of pushing him away. There was no harshness in his tone or touch, only understanding and forgiveness. He felt a tear fall, soaking into the fertile ground beneath his feet and drawing a harsh, emotional breath out of him.

     “You are deserving of everything and more,” Talion protested quietly. “You have lost everything: your home, your family, even a part of yourself. All you ever wanted was a way to make things right and a way to make the monster who ruined your life pay for his crimes. You may not have gone about it the right way, but you thought only of your family, of the people of Middle-earth who would be slaughtered or enslaved should Sauron rise to power again. You thought of them and you made it your goal to defeat Sauron and restore order and light to every place he dared touch.”

     “But that does not justify my actions!” Celebrimbor argued.

     “I‘m not saying it does, but you never intended to rule over Middle-earth as Sauron did, not without the Ring’s influence. You crafted it while vengeance and hatred for Sauron ruled your heart. It is that which affected you so.”

     At the mention of the New Ring, Celebrimbor leaned back and opened his eyes, which were drawn towards the chain that hung around Talion’s neck. On it, he saw the ring, looking just as marvelous as when they’d first crafted it in Mount Doom. Carefully, he reached up and held it, turning the smooth, inscribed metal band over in his fingers.

     “You kept it? Even after everything it caused?”

     Talion opened his eyes as well, also looking at the ring.

     “A part of our souls lies within it. Through it, we are connected. It is a way to keep you close, no matter how far away from Mordor I might be.” Celebrimbor looked to him in awe and realization for the second time in recent memory, clutching the ring closer. “And it reminds me that I’m still of the race of Men, that I’m not completely lost yet.”

     “You will never be one of them, Talion,” he insisted, letting the chain fall back out of sight. “You are stronger than they ever were.”

     Everywhere he went, he encountered new reminders of just how changed he was, how different he was from mortal beings. The Witch-king of Angmar’s continued whispers and jeers only made it worse.

     “Every day, it becomes harder to believe that,” Talion whispered.

     It was Celebrimbor’s turn to recapture Talion’s gaze as he attempted to pull away, a familiar stubbornness and determination staring into his soul.

     “Then I shall believe enough for the both of us.”

     It was then that the light around them began to fade. Celebrimbor seemed resigned, almost as if he expected it to happen, but Talion whirled around in alarm, hands reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. He looked back to Celebrimbor, unwilling to let him go again.

     “I’m not leaving you,” he insisted.

     “You cannot sleep forever, Talion, and neither can I. The ring is what brought us back together, however briefly. I’m sure it can do that again.”

     Talion swayed on his feet, his vision beginning to fade.

     “Hora ni,” he pleaded in Quenya, hoping that Celebrimbor understood his weak voice.

      Wait for me.

     As he felt himself falling, vision failing him, he heard a whispered, “Illumë,” in response.

     Always.

XxX

You speak to me of betrayal?

     Eltariel spun around with her sword and dagger drawn, eyes frantically scanning for the source of the warped, yet familiar voice. The heart of Minas Morgul was clouded and littered with rubble and long rotted corpses, the light gray landscape interrupted by black streaks of ash and dark red splatters of blood.

You abandoned me. You and Celebrimbor.

     She cast blasts of light all around her to try and cut through the thick haze, but they were quickly and easily swallowed up. The barrier of light she shrouded herself in only made the darkness around her grow worse, until the outlines of buildings faded, leaving nothing but dust and smoke.

You took everything from me.

     “I did what I thought was right. I was offered a chance to end this nightmare, and I took it!”

     This was new. In this future, she had worn the New Ring at the behest of the Lady Galadriel. She had helped Talion defend his fortresses against the Nazgûl for a time before bringing him here, where she had been forced to face him as he fell fully under the influence of Isildur’s Ring. Never before had she done more than relive this moment—her conversation with Talion, their battle, his defeat and disappearance.

     A dark, maniacal laugh responded to her words, one that struck fear into her frantically racing heart as two chilling voices merged.

This nightmare is just beginning, Blade of Galadriel.

     Out of the swirling darkness walked Talion, but instead of the angry red eyes she expected, there was nothing left of the man she once knew under the empty hood. Sauron, in his fair form, was right behind him, a hand firmly gripping his shoulder as he grinned at a stunned Eltariel. They continued moving towards her, pushing against her barrier of light without hesitation. At first, it held as it always did. But with one final step, it shattered into countless shards of starlight, Eltariel helpless to stop Urfael from piercing her armor. The sound of a blade slicing through flesh, her screams of pain, and calculated footsteps across the stone ground reverberated around them as Sauron made his way slowly behind her. He leaned down until he could whisper in her ear, breath hot like fire and touch cold as ice.

Everything in this world will be mine.

     Eltariel shot upright with a strangled gasp, hand immediately flying to where she’d just been stabbed. Her fingers skimmed over the spotless, cool, undamaged metal of her breastplate, and she wildly scanned the area until her eyes fell on a slumbering, smiling Talion. He held a necklace in one of his hands, the other loosely sprawled at his side. The image of a soulless, faceless wraith in his armor was burned into her mind, and she shook her head as she tried to get her panicked breathing under control.

     She shakily picked up her pack and got to her feet, pulling out a roll of dried fruits, taking small bites until her heart calmed and the anxiety and panic she’d woken with slowly dissipated. Eltariel took a deep breath and a long drink of water, blinking the last of her dream away and replacing everything in her pack as her companion stirred.

     Talion woke with a groan, gingerly sitting up with a hand on his head, the other clutching the surprisingly warm ring around his neck. Its elvish script glowed a fierce blue for a few moments before it faded, returning to its normal state. The dream had felt so real. His conversation with Celebrimbor had felt so real . If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still feel Celebrimbor’s body heat, the silkiness of his hair, the firmness of muscle beneath armor, see the brightness of his sapphire eyes, hear the soft rumble of his voice right next to his ear… 

     “What was that about not needing sleep?” he heard from not too far away, dropping the ring back out of sight.

     Talion turned to see a smirking Eltariel gathering up her things, the caragors lifting their heads groggily at her voice. He chose to ignore the quip, getting to his feet and stretching before gently patting his dire caragor (which let out a sleepy rumble in response as it stood) in greeting.

     “As much as I hate to admit it, I’d rather not traverse the Dead Marshes. Though I don’t like the idea of traveling in such an exposed area, it would not do to get lost in such a grim, unknown place.”

     “You’re finally starting to make sense,” Eltariel replied, mounting her caragor and gesturing ahead of them. “Shall we?”

     Talion mounted his dire caragor as he nodded to her. They set off, veering around the Dead Marshes as they continued northeast.

Translations

(Q): Hora ni → Wait for me

(Q): Illume → Always

Chapter Text

Meetings in Rivendell

     Marshland morphed into grassy plains, then rolling hills and growing cliff sides, as they continued traveling. Talion didn’t realize how heavily dark magic and despair hung in the air of Mordor until they were a fair distance away from it. There had always been a sense of hopelessness and danger no matter where he went that was distinctly lacking at the moment. A true breath of fresh air shocked him greatly as he took the time to think about that, and Eltariel had taken notice of his suddenly bewildered expression, though she shared it.

     The pair were beginning to be able to have semi-civil conversations. They still had plenty of disagreements, of course, and made more than a few biting, sarcastic comments, but talking was almost pleasant now. Perhaps they’d realized that constantly being at each other’s throats would only make the days feel longer, or perhaps they were simply tired of always arguing. Not that they didn’t still have their moments. One argument in particular early in the week had sent Talion sprawling off his dire caragor, burned by a beam of light Eltariel had shot at him. After he, quite forcefully, shadow pulled her off her caragor in response, the two had agreed that their volatile arguments had to stop.

     Now, conversation usually started with Talion, tired of hours of unending silence, saying, “So…” and Eltariel looking to him expectantly before he asked a random question or made a statement. Today was different. Today it was simply, “Have you always worked alone?”

     His hesitant tone prompted her to meet his genuinely curious gaze. An olive branch, she realized, after all of the fighting and bickering they had done in their previous times together.

     “Not always,” she answered after a few moments. “When I was younger, still training to fight and hunt, I worked with older, more experienced elves. It would be a few centuries before I was allowed to go on missions by myself.” She sighed, a sudden sadness seizing her. “When I was a child, the Lady Galadriel took me in, gave me a home, a purpose. She made me who I am… and I owe her everything. This life of hunting and fighting is all I’ve really known. Especially after I was made Blade, making friends was never a priority.”

     Talion was surprised that she would divulge a part of her past to him, not expecting such an honest answer, or any answer at all. She looked so vulnerable, a sight he wasn’t used to seeing from her.

     “Besides,” she continued bitterly, the moment gone, “Look where having “teammates” has gotten me. I lost a Ring of Power, became a prisoner of Sauron, and now I’m traveling halfway across Middle-earth with you.” She stared at her hand with two missing fingers. “ Surely nothing could go wrong this time.”

     “Of course something will go wrong,” he told her. “Rarely do things ever go exactly to plan. But for now, the only thing we need to worry about is what to do once we arrive in Rivendell.”

     “I still think a straightforward approach is a foolish idea. No matter what Shelob’s vision says, Lord Elrond will sense your dark magic and label you a threat. And if that isn’t indication enough, your Ring will be.”

     “We’ve faced much more dangerous foes, but I don’t think it will come to that. The Lord Elrond is wise. I doubt he would dismiss your presence or words without consideration,” Talion pointed out to her. “Worry not, Eltariel.”

     After a lengthy silence, she sighed.

     “Very well, but I still don’t like it.”

     Talion smiled grimly.

     “I’m not exactly thrilled by the idea, but I would rather meet him now instead of when the Nazgûl attack. I would like to not be mistaken for the enemy.” 

     After another sleepless night for Talion, they were a little closer to reaching Rivendell. Though the caragors tired more often than either of them liked, they’d covered a decent amount of distance since their departure from Nurn. They were veering more and more towards the River Anduin now that they were well past Gondor and the Falls of Rauros, and soon Rohan, giving them a clear path towards the Misty Mountains and into Rivendell. The terrain looked to be treacherous and difficult to navigate, but the caragors had almost no trouble climbing and leaping their way through, even if they took a few turns into dead end trails on occasion.

     The rest of the week passed before rocky cliffs and narrow mountain paths turned to thick, towering trees and greenery full of game and a few less-than-friendly creatures. Eltariel was certain they had stumbled upon a set of cave troll tracks one day, and wasted no time in steering them in the opposite direction. As Rivendell came into view, Talion looked like the picture of confidence while Eltariel was wary and concerned, still believing in her earlier statements about Elrond. She noticed the lack of sentinels near the entrance and stopped her caragor. Talion paused a few paces ahead of her, looking back.

     “What is it?”

     “It’s too quiet. There’s no one guarding the entrance to Rivendell. Doesn’t that seem strange?”

     Before Talion could answer, he winced, gaze snapping down to the ring on his finger. Though he hadn’t used its power lately, it glowed faintly. Eltariel looked to him in worry before her eyes fell on something behind him, prompting her to leap down from her caragor in a hurry. Talion tore his gaze away from the almost pulsing ring to see a dark haired, regal elven figure dressed in robes of deep scarlet approaching. The pair could see curiosity with a side of caution in his eyes as he stopped a fair distance from them.

     “I wanted to greet you personally, without prying eyes,” he told them before nodding politely to Eltariel. “Eltariel. I see Lady Galadriel is keeping you busy.” She bowed her head briefly as they both looked to Talion. “And who might you be, Ring-bearer?”

     “Mae govannen, Lord Elrond. I am Talion, wielder of Isildur’s Ring and enemy of Sauron.”

     It was not often that Elrond found himself at a loss for words. He could see Elendil and his sons as clear as day in his mind. Imagining Isildur in the armor of a Nazgûl… It took him several moments to recover and respond to Talion, a stricken expression flashing across his face so quickly that Eltariel almost didn’t catch it.

     “Isildur’s… Ring? That…” His eyes fell to the glowing ring on Talion’s finger with unease. “Is what many would claim to be impossible. The tale is known all throughout Middle-earth… and yet it seems we may have all been deceived.”

     He met Talion’s gaze, searching for something, and Talion observed the elf-lord in return. His wisdom was evident in his speech and his approach, and there was a great strength within that wasn’t initially apparent. In Talion’s eyes, Elrond could see great conflict, a constant internal struggle, and great loss. But also present was an ever-burning flame of hope and a light that fought against the quite visible darkness that seemed intent on consuming him. Talion was unpredictable, dangerous, but… he was no enemy, and Elrond felt he had a greater purpose to fulfill, something much bigger than himself. Eltariel held her breath, looking between the two with uncertainty.

     “You are free to stay in Rivendell. I’m sure your journey has been quite exhausting.”

     Talion and Eltariel startled at his response.

     “My Lord?” Eltariel questioned, not sure she had heard him correctly.

     She was sure Elrond wouldn’t react well to Talion, and yet here they were as guests of the city. Talion, despite knowing they would be allowed into Rivendell, didn’t expect Elrond to admit them so easily without at least some suspicion or distrust, but he didn’t sense any from the elf lord at all. Elrond picked up on those trains of thoughts with a small smile.

     “I am not without my questions and doubts, I assure you, but I know you are not enemies. I welcome you to my home. You’ve been expected.”

     “Expected?” Talion asked.

     Elrond nodded.

     “Yes, and I’m not surprised. Mithrandir knows many things, often much sooner than others; today is no different.” He beckoned for them to follow him. “Come. There is a place for your mounts to rest, and for you as well.”

     The three made their way into the city, the caragors trailing tiredly behind them. Heads turned and the occasional whisper was carried along the breeze as they passed, news of their strange visitors quickly spreading.

     Rivendell was absolutely beautiful, from the rushing waterfalls and stunning cliff sides to the elegant buildings surrounded by forest, fauna, and flora under a clear and open sky. Sanctuary was the word that came to Talion’s mind as he gazed in wonder, spirits lifted and steps lighter even with exhaustion setting in. The magic in the air was gentle, protective, full of life, and a part of Talion described the feeling as home . Eltariel glanced fondly around the city after several decades of absence from it. It was still as wonderful as she remembered, though not nearly as lovely, in her opinion, as Lothlórien. Elrond led them to a secluded part of what he told them was called the Last Homely House, and as Eltariel and Elrond briefly explained its and the city’s history, Talion felt more and more out of place. He didn’t have much time to dwell on those thoughts, however, as the three sat down in lovingly hand carved chairs on an upper deck that gave a wonderful view of much of the city.

     “What is it you would like to know, my lord?” Eltariel asked.

     “Whatever you are willing to share,” Elrond told them. “I’m sure many of my questions will be answered if you start from the beginning of your journey.”

     Talion and Eltariel exchanged looks as Talion took a deep breath and began the tale. He started with the day of what should have been his death, when the Black Hand of Sauron slaughtered his family and destroyed his home, slitting their throats and reveling in their blood. The appearance of Celebrimbor as a wraith startled Elrond, but he motioned for Talion to continue. Talion told his story of revenge, of how he hunted the black captains, overthrew orc overlords, and dominated orcs in an attempt to raise an army against the rest of those who stood in his way. He told of the fall of the Black Gate, the defeat of the Black Hand of Sauron, and the creation of the New Ring, then of his rescue of Celebrimbor and their quest to bring all of Mordor under their control against Sauron. 

     Explaining his first time meeting Shelob gave Eltariel pause, as she questioned Talion putting trust in her after kidnapping Celebrimbor. When he revealed that he’d given her the New Ring in exchange for Celebrimbor’s safe return, Elrond gave Talion a strange, calculating look, eyes seemingly drawn to the chain hidden under his armor, though Talion didn’t notice. A retelling of the fall of Minas Ithil and everything that led up to it followed, and it was then that Eltariel spoke, starting with how she killed Talion after driving away the Nazgûl that had taken over the city. From there, their paths crossed many more times all across Mordor as they tracked the Nazgûl and drew closer to Barad-dûr.

     Bickering ensued, of course, as one or the other exaggerated or twisted words and meanings to make the other seem like a fool, but when it died down, Talion explained his and Celebrimbor’s conquering of the strongholds in each part of Mordor, and told of the various orcs he encountered. He briefly touched on the necromancer who raised a balrog that went on a rampage before his and the spirit Carnan’s combined efforts buried it deep underwater, where it would hopefully rest for good, as well as the attempted orc revolt by the Olog Bruz, who had recently gained back Talion’s trust after a second chance. 

     From there, he and Eltariel continued discussing hunting the Nazgûl, their battle with Isildur, and their attack on Barad-dûr, stopping where they had the previously Ringwraith Isildur at their mercy. Talion fell quiet then, and Eltariel refused to meet his eyes. Elrond clearly saw the discomfort and bad memories retelling this part of their story brought forth, so he waited patiently for one of them to speak again, understanding and sympathetic. Talion slowly, shakily, told of Isildur’s memories, of how the One Ring led him to his death before a new Ring turned him into a Nazgûl, and as that very Ring slid from his finger Talion granted him a true death. This, in turn, led to Celebrimbor’s revelation of wanting to control Sauron, to make Mordor, and then Middle-earth, his, and his offer of the New Ring to Eltariel. When Talion fell silent again, Eltariel continued.

     She recounted her and Celebrimbor’s battle with Sauron, how they had won, how they had Sauron right where they had wanted him… but his will was too strong. Reveling in their victory too soon, Sauron cut the New Ring from her hand, merging with Celebrimbor, the blast from their fusion knocking her unconscious. When next she woke, she found herself in chains. She held up the hand with three fingers, shivering as she remembered the look in Sauron’s eyes as he broke Celebrimbor’s control.

     It was then that Talion told them of how he had seen their defeat through the palantir in Minas Morgul. Once again on death’s doorstep, he’d made contact with Shelob, who told him that he’d prevented a future far worse than what had transpired and that there was still more work to be done. This led to him taking Isildur’s Ring as his own and leaving Barad-dûr, reclaiming Minas Morgul in an attempt to keep Sauron’s influence from spreading any further west. He strengthened his fortresses and fought any Nazgûl that dared approach him, until news of the One Ring’s reappearance reached him and prompted him to go after Eltariel. They successfully escaped back to his fortress in Nurn, but not before he came face to face with Sauron and Celebrimbor. Talion said not what they spoke of, but continued by telling how he and Eltariel had set off from Nurn with the intention of meeting the Ring-bearer on their way to Rivendell.

     Silence fell with the sun, which had begun setting as their tale concluded. Elrond sat deep in thought, eyes shining with unanswered questions, one in particular that remained from before the tale was told.

     “And what of the New Ring that was forged?” he finally asked.

     “It was lost at Barad-dur,” Eltariel replied with a hint of shame. “It wasn’t recovered before our departure, and there is no telling where it is now.”

     Elrond regarded her curiously before his gaze shifted to Talion, expectant. Eltariel followed his eyes, watching Talion sigh before reaching up to reveal the chain around his neck, and the New Ring securely hanging from it. Her eyes widened, and some indescribable emotions flickered within them along with anger.

     “It was not lost,” Talion told her, eyes fixed upon it with sadness. “I took it as we left.”

     “And you have hid it from me all this time? What gives you the right?!”  

     “You weren’t one of the ones that forged it,” he told her, tearing his eyes away from the New Ring. Eltariel recoiled at the sheer anguish she could see in them, not the fury she was expecting or the mad possessiveness that she thought would take over. “You didn’t wear it every night and day, see how it changed the one person who had always been there when you needed them. You didn’t feel the sickening rush of power every time it was used to serve less than good intentions, nor did you feel your throat slice open, collapsing and choking on your own blood as you watched everything you’d fought for for decades fall into darkness before your very eyes. I watched the elf who gave me a second chance, the friend I cared about, the one person I thought would always be by my side, fall under its influence and turn into someone unrecognizable, the very ring he forged to defeat Sauron turning him into a being no better than him. You didn’t feel… when…” When I thought I’d lost him for good, he finished in his head, voice that was once determined and strong trailing off as he felt old wounds reopen. “It is a reminder of who he once was,” he finished softly, and Eltariel felt a pain in her heart that she couldn’t quite explain. 

     “If it reminds you of that… why do you keep it?”

     Talion once again looked to the ring.

     “When it was first forged, Celebrimbor was himself. It reminds me that we were once fighting for the same thing: an end to the darkness, an end to Sauron and his evil, and peace for Middle-earth. And… it reminds me of what I once was, before Isildur’s Ring, before I began to change.”

     He clutched it tighter as he felt it warm and glow under his touch, a faint feeling of arms encircling him and a soft whisper making him close his eyes for a brief moment. The anger in Eltariel’s eyes slowly dissipated, replaced with genuine concern. She saw when he struggled with his ring, saw how he fought to retain what little of himself remained. No matter how much they didn’t see eye to eye, she would never wish for him to fall.

     “And does it call to you as Isildur’s Ring does?”

      Yes, that’s all you are, Ranger. A vessel for the Ring-maker.

     I will shatter your pain into a thousand pieces and make you swallow every shard of your agony and loss.

     You will never see your family again.

     Talion lost count of the amount of times he plunged Acharn into The Tower of Sauron’s body, fury and hatred coursing through every fiber of his being. The Black Hand of Sauron had taken his family away. Celebrimbor had lied to him from the start and kept him from them. Had all of this—all the fighting, killing, conquering, dominating, slashing his sword and running until his body begged for an eternal rest that was always denied—been for nothing? The jagged blade continued to rip through cold, lifeless flesh, spattering dark, almost black, blood across the crumbling stone ruins of Ered Glamhoth. Alternating flashes of Sauron and The Black Hand’s faces replaced The Tower’s with each stab, until it was all his mind could focus on. It wasn’t until a spectral pair of hands grasped his wrist that he felt some clarity within the rage fueled haze.

     Celebrimbor was met with a deadly glower, but he did not falter. He held Talion’s gaze, a mix of understanding and apology in his eyes.

     “It is over. Let fury darken your heart no longer.”

     Harsh breaths slowly calmed upon hearing the gently uttered words, and Talion felt the last of his anger leave him, an empty, sad exhaustion taking its place. He fell to his knees and braced his hands on the stone floor, Acharn clattering beside him. Celebrimbor kneeled next to him.

     “When we met, you too wanted vengeance. I thought you could achieve what I couldn’t. But in vengeance, there is blind anger and haste, and it was with those two things that I made fatal missteps that led to my demise. I do not wish to see you fall to their mind games. Not as I did.” Celebrimbor’s hands remained around his wrist, grip softer now. “Let us close the circle and find peace.”

     Talion let out a choked sob, eyes squeezed shut, and nodded.

     The first time darkness had threatened to swallow him whole, consume everything that he was, Celebrimbor had stayed his hand and brought him back to the light. Closure. Peace. Despite the lies and half-truths between them early in their journey, Celebrimbor had had his best interests in mind, in his own strange ways, and as they liberated Mordor over the years that only became more apparent. Talion shook his head, eyes now open and shining with gratitude for the one he held dear in his heart.

     “No… He calls me back from the darkness.”   

XxX

     The Hall of Fire in the Last Homely House was a bright and warm change from the cold, hard earth and cool colored landscapes they had traveled since leaving Mordor. A large roaring fireplace bathed the vast hall in golden light as night arrived. Talion and Eltariel attended dinner as Elrond’s guests, sitting at his end of the longest table. They met several members of his council, faithful servants of many centuries, and normal folk from within the city, who warmly, if cautiously at times, welcomed them to Rivendell, striking up small conversation when the chance arose. Talion and Eltariel sat across from one another, not exchanging any words or glances. Eltariel happily ate her first actual meal since leaving Nurn, and as Talion’s gaze swept through the hall at the merriment of the people eagerly dining, he was struck once again at how changed he was.

     When was the last time he had willingly settled down for a meal? When had he last enjoyed good food or a bit of drink? When was the last time he was actually hungry or parched? He had no answers for those questions. He stared at all of the wonderful smelling dishes along the table. Would food still taste the same after all this time? After another minute of deliberation, he decided to fill his plate. Why not?

     Elrond observed Talion’s odd behavior, his longing stare at the food around him, as if food were a privilege he could no longer have and enjoy. Shortly after, Talion slowly and hesitantly filled his plate with a bit of everything. He saw Talion begin eating, heart lifting when a smile graced the man’s lips and some light returned to his eyes. Elrond’s gaze then fell on Eltariel, who looked more at ease than he’d ever seen her before, reunited with her kin, at least for a short while, enjoying the pleasures of a simple meal under a warm roof. He returned to his own food and conversations, but kept an eye on Talion for the rest of dinner. Despite the food, he still seemed to be bothered by something.

     As the hall emptied and servants began clearing the table, Elrond approached Talion, who was the last to begin to leave save himself.

     “Talion, may I have a word?”

     Talion nodded, falling to Elrond’s side as they walked throughout the city, going nowhere in particular. He turned his gaze to the night sky, a far off look in his eyes as he took in the stars shining brightly above. How many nights had he and Celebrimbor spent side by side, admiring the stars and their beauty together? How long had it been since the last time they had done so? Elrond’s voice startled him out of a memory drifting closer and closer to the surface, one that would make his heart ache.

     “Forgive me for inquiring about the New Ring. Had I known what it would cause, I would have asked you in private.”

     Talion shook his head.

     “It’s alright. How did you know I still had it?”

     “When I sensed your approach, it was not Isildur’s Ring that alerted me to your presence, though as you grew closer to Rivendell, I felt it. There was a power unlike anything I’d ever felt, constantly shifting between light and dark, so bright and strong that I could not ignore it. That was what prompted me to meet the two of you myself. When you spoke of the New Ring earlier, you said that it reminded you of who you and Celebrimbor used to be.” Talion nodded, unsure where the conversation was going. “But when you answered Eltariel’s question, you said that he calls you back from the darkness, not the ring.”

     Talion froze and Elrond stopped beside him, expression gentle. He looked away, cheeks the slightest bit red.

     “I… I don’t…”

     “You need not tell me unless you wish to. Not all of the Rings are evil. There are those that are used to heal, to protect.” Elrond’s and Talion’s eyes fell to the gold ring on his finger, its sapphire gleaming faintly in the moonlight. “Vilya has helped me to protect this place for millennia.”

     He dropped his hand and looked back to a stunned Talion, who, after a few moments of hesitation, spoke.

     “When the New Ring was forged, it was imbued with much more than just magic. A part of Celebrimbor’s soul lies within the ring… as does part of mine.” He took in Elrond’s surprised look before continuing. “The New Ring… It is a way to keep him close; it connects us, and… it reminds me that I will always have a light in the darkness.”

     Elrond smiled sadly, his heart breaking a little at Talion’s situation.

     “You love him,” he whispered. Talion’s eyes widened at the statement, despite knowing it was true. “You speak fondly of him, and I can see the longing in your eyes, hear the heartbreak in your words… Does he know?” 

     “I… I don’t know. I haven’t yet gathered the courage to tell him.”

     “He is quite lucky to have stolen a heart such as yours. You are a good man, Talion, whether or not you think so.”

     Talion didn’t know how to respond, so he opted for another nod as the two returned to the Last Homely House to retire for the night.

XxX

     The next day was an ominous one. There was a strange sense of dread and unease in the air, so much so that even Elrond seemed to feel its effects. Breakfast was uncomfortably quiet. Eltariel tried to catch Talion’s eye, to see if he thought the same things she did, but he was busy pushing food around on his plate, lost in thought. It wasn’t until the voice of a small figure broke the silence that Talion looked up from his meal, which had become cold quite some time ago.

     “When I was told that a man had arrived yesterday, I didn’t dare believe it. I had to meet you for myself.” Talion looked to his right to find a small, elderly figure sitting next to him, smiling. He was shorter than a dwarf and seemed strangely familiar. The bearer of the One Ring was of the same race, he realized. “Welcome to Rivendell, friend.”

     Talion found his heart lightened to see someone in such a bright mood on such a dark day.

     “We didn’t have the pleasure of meeting yesterday. My name is Talion.”

     “Oh! Where are my manners? Bilbo Baggins at your service.” He held out a hand and eagerly shook Talion’s when he took it. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve met someone of the race of Men, and…” His eyes fell on Isildur’s Ring, smile slowly falling from his face, expression now serious and contemplative. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen someone with a Ring of Power.”

     “What would you know of them?” Talion asked, carefully gauging Bilbo’s answer.

     “I know that they hold great power, that they can do things one can only dream of. But… I also know that they whisper in your ear, poison your mind, make it seem as if you cannot live without them, that you must do whatever it takes to keep them safe from a thief’s hands… And there is a darkness that you can never seem to escape when you put them on…”

     Bilbo shivered, wondering just how safe it was to leave the One Ring with Frodo. He didn’t wish anything like what he endured on his nephew. Talion looked at Bilbo in understanding, glad he was not the only person who knew how much of a burden the Rings could truly be.

     “If I may ask, how did you come by a Ring of Power before?” 

     Bilbo’s expression brightened at the question, the smile returning to his face.

     “It’s actually part of the reason I missed dinner last night. Come to think of it, I don’t quite remember when I was last in the company of others. Has it been a week yet? But you didn’t ask me to ramble on about that! I’m writing a book, you see, about my adventures from many years ago. It started back in the Shire, where I come from…”

     Breakfast passed quickly into lunch as Talion heard Bilbo’s story. He was a hobbit, as he’d learned their race was called, who had become a part of a company of dwarves in their quest to reclaim the kingdom of Erebor. Talion could have sworn he’d heard a similar, though much less detailed, tale years ago, a story one of the other rangers like to recount when spirits were low and a smile was hard to come by. Bilbo told of how he came into possession of the One Ring part of the way through his journey, and ended the tale with his return to the Shire, the goodbye to his home, and his stay in Rivendell. When Bilbo finished, Talion felt compelled to share part of his own story, and Bilbo listened intently as Talion told him how he obtained Isildur’s Ring, as well as about some of his companions from Mordor and how their stories intertwined with his, however briefly or long. Talion found he quite enjoyed Bilbo’s company.

     “And now I am here,” he told him.

     Bilbo regarded him with respect and a bit of sadness.

     “I cannot imagine living such a life full of sorrow and pain like yours. But all that you have suffered has made you who you are, and I am glad to have met a person like yourself.” Talion smiled at him gratefully. Something over Talion’s shoulder caught Bilbo’s eye, and he watched the hobbit grin and exclaim, “He may beat even you in that department, Gandalf!”

     “I’m sure that he does, old friend.” Talion turned to see an old man with gray hair, plain robes, and a pointed hat approaching the table. The man smiled warmly at him. “Well met, Talion. Lord Elrond has had nothing but good things to say about you. I trust you and Bilbo are getting along?”

     “Of course. I’ve never met another like him,” he replied with a small smile.

     “I’m sure you haven’t,” Gandalf said with the strangest gleam in his eye. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the seat across from him.

     “By all means,” Talion told Gandalf as he took his seat.

     “Good morning,” an approaching voice called. Talion looked up to see Eltariel making her way over to them. She nodded to Talion, who nodded back before she addressed the other two. “It has been years, Master Baggins. I hope you’ve been quite well?” 

     “Eltariel! How long has it been? Since the Battle of the Five Armies, I believe. I have been quite well, and the same seems true of you.” His eyes briefly landed on one of her hands. “Though I take it you have many stories to tell.”

     She then turned to Gandalf, taking the seat next to him.

     “Mithrandir,” she addressed him respectfully. “Always a pleasure.”

     “And to you as well, Eltariel. I suspect you’ve had quite the adventure since last we spoke.”

     “That is… one way to put it, I suppose. Much has happened.”  

     “If you wouldn’t mind, might I hear a bit of that tale?”

     “Of course.”

     She and Talion gave him an abbreviated version of their stories as the four of them enjoyed lunch together. Gandalf didn’t seem surprised at anything they told him, almost as if he already knew and was simply waiting for someone to confirm it. And that gleam in his eyes!

     “ Quite the adventure indeed! The two of you have been quite busy in Mordor, and now your journey brings you here, seemingly on the same quest as our young friends from the Shire.”

     Talion was astounded.

     “You know of that as well?” he questioned, not daring to believe anyone could be this well informed.

     “Gandalf quite often knows everything , Talion,” Bilbo told him.

     “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Gandalf replied. Conversations turned to small talk for a while, until, with a soft, caring look in his eyes, he asked Eltariel, “How does the Lady Galadriel fare these days? It has been some time since we’ve seen each other.”

     Eltariel and Talion shared knowing glances at his tone of voice, both holding back smiles they were sure would tip the wizard off.

     “She was well when last we spoke. I haven’t been back to Lórien since I started my quest. She did, however, ask for me to pass on her well wishes and greetings to you should our paths ever cross.”

     “Wonderful! I think a trip to Lothlórien is long overdue, though I suppose it will have to wait until—”

     Tension and terror rippled through the hall in equal measure at a sudden shift in the air, conversations quelled with a collective hush of dread. As Elrond attempted to calm the anxious atmosphere, Eltariel looked to Talion, and a silent understanding passed between them. The Nazgûl were close.

     Without warning, a shrill, earsplitting shriek pierced the air. Talion cried out in pain, clutching the hand with Isildur’s Ring as a cold, determined glare settled in his eyes. He quickly made his way out of the Last Homely House, Eltariel rushing after him and watching him dive off the nearest grassy cliff with a powerful leap. She skidded to a halt, perplexed, until a bright blur soared upwards from where Talion had jumped. She smiled wickedly as Luinil swooped back around for her, getting a running start before leaping onto the fire drake’s back and securing herself behind Talion as they flew towards the Ford of Bruinen. He didn’t seem to notice that the wind had blown his hood up, the dark material now covering his head so that Eltariel couldn’t see his face.

     The Trollshaws blurred below them in various shades of green and brown as they covered much ground at an unbelievable speed. It wasn’t too long before the forest began to thin and the eight Nazgûl were in their sights. A company of three hobbits and a man wielding a flaming branch kept them at bay as an elven warrior and another injured hobbit rode swiftly towards Rivendell. Talion gave a furious battle cry as Luinil shot a great fireball between the two groups, leaping off her back and drawing Urfael as his feet hit the wet ground. Eltariel landed gracefully beside him, drawing her own weapons. As the steam from the fireball disappeared, the company was astounded to find two strangers standing between them and the Nazgûl. Eltariel shielded herself with the Light of Galadriel while Talion became cloaked in a swirl of black and green energy. This gave the Nazgûl pause before they charged, Talion and Eltariel gladly meeting them.

     Cold rushing water splashed all around them, the slippery mud and stone floor of the ford threatening to upset anyone’s balance with just a single misstep. The small company watched as the Nazgûl struggled, always driven further back by blasts of light or the thrust of a sword. Eltariel and Talion worked surprisingly well together, covering each other’s back and coordinating attacks to not give the Nazgûl any time to recover. Talion tried to stay at her left side as much as he could, knowing that using a sword with only three fingers would come with hazards and difficulties. More than one vicious strike threatened to disarm her, and she silently thanked him for his timely interventions whenever she felt the handle of her blade slipping from her grasp.

     With one last shadow strike and retreat, Talion, Eltariel, and the company found themselves on the riverbank. They watched as the Ford rose up in a powerful flood, whispers of ancient, powerful magic in the air as it swept the Nazgûl away, the dying cry of one of their black steeds the last sound they heard before the waters calmed and returned to normal. Talion and Eltariel stood side by side, facing the apprehensive and mostly terrified company. Eltariel glowed still with the Light of Galadriel, but all that could be seen under Talion’s hood was a pair of flaming red eyes.

Translations

(S): Mae govannen → Well met

Chapter Text

The Company

     Three terrified hobbits and a wary man fixed their gazes on Talion and Eltariel, a tense hush falling over the Ford and everyone in it. As Eltariel put her sword and dagger away and stood down, the four turned their attention to Talion. He thought back to Shelob’s vision, realizing the only things visible underneath his hood were his eyes and that they were the orange-red shade of fire. Silently cursing Isildur’s Ring for the effects it had on him, especially his already dangerous appearance, Talion sheathed Urfael and slowly lowered his hood, watching their eyes widen as they saw his face. The man looked to him in cautious surprise, as did the still fearful hobbits, while Eltariel seemed dismayed.

     “I do not know who you are, but I must thank you. Had you not arrived when you did, we surely would have faced our deaths,” the man spoke, slowly lowering the flaming branch he held and dropping it into the Ford. “Might we know your names?”

     “I am Eltariel of Lothlórien,” she introduced herself, bowing her head respectfully.

     “And I am Talion. I hail from Minas Tirith.”

     The man’s eyes lit up at that.

     “Well met, Eltariel, Talion. If I may ask, why did you come here?” 

     “The Nazgûl threaten all that is in this world, and we were informed they were after something, a Ring known only in legend… until it was discovered by a hobbit of the Shire.” One of the hobbit’s eyes widened in fear, knowing exactly what Talion was talking about, and the wariness returned to the man’s eyes. “Eltariel and I have seen what these Rings can do, and took it upon ourselves to ensure the Nazgûl didn’t get their hands on the Ring your companion carries.”

     “A-And now?” one of the hobbits questioned. “If it’s the Black Riders you’re talking about, they’re gone. What do you plan to do?” 

     Talion met Eltariel’s gaze with a questioning look. She raised an eyebrow at him.

     “We would like to escort you to Rivendell,” Eltariel answered. “Even with the Nazgûl gone, the path there could still be riddled with danger.” 

     She met the man’s eyes, not expecting the deep, piercing look he gave her, as if he could see straight into her heart and soul. She looked away from his intense stare, and he fixed his eyes on Talion’s next. Talion met his gaze without hesitation, daring the other man to find ill intent within him. The man was taken aback by this, but found nothing but truth and good intentions. He gave reassuring looks to the hobbits, who calmed somewhat under his confident gaze, before giving them an answer.

     “We would be most grateful to accept your offer. I am called many names, but here I am simply known as Strider. This is Samwise, Meriadoc, and Peregrin,” he introduced, indicating the hobbits as he named them.

     “Just Merry is fine,” Meriadoc spoke up nervously.

     “And so is Pippin,” Peregrin added shyly. 

     “Call me Sam,” Samwise told them.

     “A pleasure to meet you all,” Talion told him, though the hobbits refused to meet his gaze. “Are you well enough to continue?”

     With a nod from Strider, the six of them set off towards Rivendell on foot, the company’s thoughts lingering on their injured companion who had been rushed to the city ahead of them. They traveled for several hours, and while he did not tire as quickly as he used to, Talion was reminded of just how much energy traveling on foot required. Eltariel, too, showed signs of tiredness, as did Strider, who was a bit worse for wear, but the hobbits looked the most exhausted. Talion caught Strider and Eltariel’s attention, and there was a silent conversation between the three before they decided it was best to rest for the night. The area they settled in was fairly secluded and just off the path. A ring of trees surrounded a flat, grassy clearing that would draw no complaints of roots and rocks poking backs from Sam. When Strider offered to take the first watch, Talion waved him off, much to Eltariel’s amusement.

     “Is this the part where you tell him you don’t sleep?” she teased with a smug smile.

     Talion glared at her halfheartedly.

     “That was once, and there was a reason behind that.”

     Her expression turned serious, but her eyes held a glint of amusement.

     “Still, all of us are weary, and there are no caragors guarding us this time.”

     “I could call her down to guard us. She’s circling the skies near here,” he suggested, referring to Luinil, who was never far off.

     “And scare the halflings to death? I think not.”

     “Still, I will keep watch for the night, Strider. I’m sure your journey has been more exhausting than ours today.”

     Strider nodded in gratitude, bidding them goodnight and settling close to the hobbits. Eltariel regarded Talion with worry.

     “Are you certain you’ll be alright for the night?” she asked.

     “I’ll be fine, Eltariel. Rest, ” he insisted.

     With one last glance, she relented, settling and making herself comfortable. For a few hours, Talion let himself drift between the Wraith World and the physical plane, extending his senses and staying alert for any sign of trouble. When yet another hour passed with nothing but the occasional nocturnal animal sighting, Talion sighed, lying down and gazing at the starry sky as his thoughts turned towards the conversation he’d had with Elrond not too long ago. He remembered his hand gently grasping the New Ring before his vision faded to black.

XxX

     When next he woke, Talion was aware of a warm presence at his back and strong arms wrapped securely around his chest.

      “Celebrimbor.”

     He was still where the group had stopped to rest, but now it was just the two of them, and Talion couldn’t be happier. The stars shone brightly, and the night was pleasant. Talion felt a nose softly nuzzle the side of his neck, sighing contently.

      “Talion,” he whispered, voice full of affection and wonder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

     Celebrimbor sat up when he was met with confused silence.

     “Tell you what?” Talion asked a bit nervously, sitting up as well and turning to face him.

     “After our first meeting like this, I took some time to re-evaluate the New Ring, to find answers to my questions. We may no longer share the same body, but our souls are still bonded. We are just as connected here, in the ring, as we were before, even if it isn’t quite the same and our contact is limited.” Talion’s eyes widened before it dawned on him just what those words meant. Blushing, he averted his eyes, turning away only to have Celebrimbor gently take his face in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again, softer.

     “There was never time,” Talion told him sadly. “When I realized my feelings, the New Ring had already started to change you. You were becoming more and more distant, and there was never a moment that felt right.”

     “Avatyara ni,” Celebrimbor whispered, guilt in his eyes.

     “There is nothing to forgive,” Talion told him adamantly. “For I still cannot gather the courage to say those words to you,” he admitted in shame.

     “I know, and I will wait for as long as you need to hear them. But I know, Talion… and I feel the same way.”

     Not believing his ears, Talion slowly raised his hands before resting them over Celebrimbor’s, eyes full of hope and unbridled affection.

     “Truly? Do you mean that?”

     Pulling them closer together, faces inches away, he whispered, “Yes.”

     Talion, without hesitation, closed the distance between them, capturing Celebrimbor’s lips in a gentle kiss the elf immediately reciprocated. It was soft and languid, a gentle melding of chapped, element and battle worn lips that hadn’t been kissed in far too long. They had always lived moment to moment, planning for the next ambush, the next siege, the next pressing matter. Here, in their dreams, despite knowing they had a limited amount of time together, neither of them could bear to rush their first kiss.

     Talion shuddered pleasantly at the shivers running down his spine and the feeling of completeness sweeping through him. Celebrimbor, still shocked at the feeling of just touching another so intimately, gasped, slowly deepening the kiss. Talion tangled his hands in Celebrimbor’s hair, pulling a soft groan from the elf as he inadvertently tugged on the silky, moonlit ebony strands. It wasn’t until they had to separate to breathe that Talion realized Celebrimbor was now on top of him, and that the only thing separating their bodies was a thin layer of clothing instead of their usual armor. He flushed at the thought, and Celebrimbor chuckled, the sound deep with amusement.

     “Patience, Talion. When this world is free of the Dark Lord’s presence, you may have your way with me as often as you wish, and I with you.”

     Talion gasped and stole another quick, tender kiss before gently rolling them onto their sides to face each other again. Short blades of grass tickled their skin, drawing small smiles out of them both.

     “How goes the battle with Sauron?” Talion asked, hating to ruin the blissful mood, but needing to know.

     Celebrimbor’s smile faded, replaced with a frown.

     “While his power is much greater than mine, it appears we are at a stalemate. Neither of our spirits is willing to yield to the other. It is tiring to fight day after day, but it is well worth it if it helps in your efforts to destroy the One Ring.”        

     “The Ring-bearer should be close to Rivendell by now, and we shall reach the city again tomorrow,” Talion told him, a hand gently caressing his cheek. Celebrimbor leaned into the soft touch. “I have a feeling my journey is just beginning.”

     “Shelob warned that you would have a long and perilous road ahead of you, and despite my distrust, she has not been wrong yet.”

     Talion hummed in agreement, tucking his head into the crook of Celebrimbor’s neck as he pulled him into his arms again. He inhaled deeply, the hint of holly, ink, and the embers from a forge causing a wave of emotions to rise within him.

     “I miss you,” he whispered with a heavy heart, tightening their embrace.

     There was a jarring, near unbearable emptiness that came with being separated from the soul you knew almost better than your own. It meant missing a constant, comforting presence; the rush of reassurance when fear and panic would begin to set in; a shared vulnerability in the gentle flow of thoughts, emotions, and memories; the safety in knowing that, no matter what happened, you would never have to face anything alone. They had spent almost eighty years being connected like that, only for it to be ripped away in an instant. The heaviness and deeper meaning of those words was not lost on Celebrimbor.

     “And I you, but we will be together again. For now, your companions need you.”

     Talion felt a lingering kiss being pressed into his hair as he once again felt his surroundings fade.

XxX

      Frodo and Sam climb and crawl their way up the treacherous slopes of Mount Doom, covered in soot and ash, barely able to move when they finally reach the innermost chamber. The volcano’s walls are lit by a harsh yellow-orange glow as Frodo stands at the edge of a cliff overlooking a menacing river of bubbling lava, the One Ring dangling from a chain in his hand. His gaze is fixed upon it, greedy and obsessed, Sam’s pleas for its destruction going unheeded. The ring slips onto Frodo’s finger and he disappears from sight, refusing to destroy what was his—

     Shelob jerked awake from her vision, the heat of the molten rock and the thick, smoky air slow to fade from her senses. She blinked the images out of her eight eyes as she scuttled down from her usual cave perch. Harsh had her visions been as of late, increasingly so in Talion’s absence. The unrest throughout Mordor had only gotten worse in the several weeks since his departure. Her tunnels had seen less traffic from foolish and unknowing orcs, and even her children told her that the land remained quiet, almost empty of enemy forces. It was making even her a bit restless.

     The sound of footsteps drew her attention to the entrance to the dimly lit cavern, a lone figure approaching her warily. Shelob did not sense fear from the woman as she stopped a few paces away. Hope was the most present feeling, followed by determination and a hint of concern.

     “Shelob?” the woman asked her, voice steady and confident, “The Ungoliant that grants visions?”

      “Shieldmaiden of the fallen city,” Shelob replied, her voice a distorted hiss. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

     “Then you know why I’m here?”

     Shelob closed her eyes and let her form shift, meeting Idril’s gaze when she felt her feet touch the cold stone floor. She looked tired, Idril noticed, dark circles forming under her eyes, skin paler than it should have been, movements sluggish rather than graceful. She must be affected by everything going on as well.

     “Enlighten me anyway,” came the response.

     Idril brushed a stray spiderweb out of her blonde hair, squaring her shoulders and fixing Shelob with an unwavering gaze.

     “Talion’s absence is felt all over Mordor. Enemy orcs have gone into hiding, gathering their strength and preparing for a large-scale assault on our fortresses and settlements. Free roaming creatures are returning to their more wild and feral states. The days grow shorter, nights darker and harsher than they have any right to be. There is talk of defecting among our ranks, their courage waning in the absence of their leader. We cannot win this war alone. We’re asking for your help.”

     “My place is here, and my purpose does not lie on a battlefield or in a stronghold. What help could I offer you?”

     “Your children roam every region. They allow you to see what happens outside of here. There is strength in their numbers and your visions give us an advantage over the enemy. Let us work together to keep Mordor from falling before Talion’s return.”

     Shelob studied the weary shieldmaiden with interest.

     “You are either quite brave or quite foolish to walk into a spider’s den unarmed and with such a large request. Why do you trust me so easily?”

     “If you hadn’t sent Talion to Minas Ithil when you did, none of us would still be here. I owe you my life, as does Baranor and all of our people that managed to flee the city during the Nazgûls’ attack. Whether intentional or just another part of the bigger picture, you’ve shown your interests aren’t selfish. You want to save Middle-earth just as much as the rest of us. So let us make Sauron work toward his demise.”

     After a moment, Shelob gave Idril a weary half smile.

     “With pleasure.”

     “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Serka grumbled, though he was trying hard not to smile.

     Gorgoroth’s stronghold was alive with activity: the clang! of a hammer and anvil, the sounds of weapons on practice targets, the rattling of cages as graugs waited impatiently for their next meal. The tall stone walls kept out the worst of the smoke that came from Mount Doom, and were quite decorated, though with orc or human materials he had no idea.

     Torvin had arrived in Gorgoroth from Nurn a few days ago, bringing with him a shipload of troops to help bolster the Vanishing Son’s numbers. He was not one to let his debts go unpaid.

     “Are you telling me you don’t want a squadron of ferocious caragor riding orcs to replace the mercenaries I owe you? Their loyalty is earned, not bought, and you have a nice mix of attack types in there. You’ve got some archers, some hunters, a few savages and defenders.” Serka followed Torvin’s gaze as he pointed out the orcs with bows, spears, pairs of swords and axes, and pikes and shields respectively. “Besides, they like Captain Baranor quite a bit, so you’re already in their good graces. Try not to muck it up, will ya?”

     “So it’s my turn to get a family discount on troops, is it? As long as the caragors keep their claws to themselves, I’m happy to have them.” 

     Torvin glanced at the claw mark scars across Serka’s face with a sheepish grin.

     “Not to worry, lad. These fine beasts are some of the best trained in all of Mordor. They might even let you ride them, if you ask nicely.”

     He chuckled at the wide-eyed look on the mercenary leader’s face at that.

     “I’ll leave that to the experts. Besides…” He looked up at the sound of alarmed shouting, laughing at the way Baranor flailed as his parachute brought him to the ground faster than he was comfortable with. “The infamous Man-bird returns! How was the scouting trip?”

     “Very funny,” Baranor told him, folding his parachute back into its pack slung over his shoulders. “The skies were quiet and uneventful. The cliffside tunnels I found, however…”

     “So the orcs did go underground?” Torvin asked.

     “Some of them. I followed the tunnels for a time. Most of what I saw was empty and abandoned, except for one small camp deep within. There were only three or four orcs, but I overheard them talking about Saruman and Isengard.”

     Serka frowned in confusion.

     “What does a wizard have to do with all this?”

     “Saruman is breeding Uruk-hai in Isengard under Sauron’s orders, creatures bred from men and orcs outside of Mordor and Saruman’s own twisted, vile magic. Apparently, they’re stronger, faster, and more vicious than anything we’ve seen thus far. There are thousands of them already, and the orcs that we’ve been fighting have all marched west, to the Black Gate and Isengard, to help train and reinforce.”

     A cold, resigned silence fell over the trio. The enemy building their numbers, they’d expected. Creating an entirely new army, however?

     “On second thought, maybe were-wyrms aren’t so bad after all.”

XxX

     Talion slowly opened his eyes to see the sky showing the first signs of light, tree branches swaying in the gentle breeze of the early morning. The script of the New Ring glowed bright blue, warm to the touch in his hand, and his heart ached as he thought of his and Celebrimbor’s conversation. No matter how long they spent together, it still never felt like they had enough time. Sitting up and dropping the ring, his eyes fell on the rest of his still sleeping companions. His four companions. Looking around and then up, he spotted Strider perched low in a tree nearby, watching over the company until his eyes fell on Talion.

     “Good morning, Talion,” he called softly, hopping down silently.

     He made his way over to Talion with kind and tired eyes.

     “Strider. How long have you…?”

     “I had a feeling you were more weary than you let on. I slept for a few hours before I took over the watch. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked… at peace.”

     Talion couldn’t help the gentle smile that came to his face as he stood.

     “Yes, I was,” he replied. “I trust you slept well?”

     “As well as I could given the circumstances, but yes.” He regarded Talion for a moment, his eyes now blue and face free of black veins and signs of corruption. “I see sleep has dismissed the darkness from your features.” 

     “That is a relief to hear. I apologize if my appearance startled you yesterday. The Nazgûl tend to bring out the worst in me.”

     His gaze fell to Isildur’s Ring. Strider followed it, and was struck by how the ring… called to him. It was faint, but he heard its whispers, and he exhaled harshly, taking a step back as he felt a stab of dread and, worse, a fleeting moment of desire, almost as if the ring… belonged to him. Talion watched his movements in concern, meeting his eyes once he’d regained his bearings.

     “That ring… It seems there is more to your story than meets the eye, Talion,” Strider told him, still a bit shaken.

     “I could say the same to you,” he replied suspiciously, eyes falling on a slowly waking Eltariel and still sleeping trio of hobbits. “Though this is neither the time nor place for such conversation. Perhaps in Rivendell, where there is less of a chance of eavesdropping.”

     There was a silent agreement between them before Eltariel joined them with a yawn.

     “Did he actually stay awake?” Eltariel asked, face impassive but a smirk in her eyes.

     “You have been awfully cheerful lately,” Talion pointed out to her.

     “Would you rather we go back to arguing? It does not do to dwell only on the negative. One must find lightheartedness in times of peril when one can,” she replied simply. 

     “Perhaps you should speak with Pippin, then,” Strider told her with a slight smile. “He has a knack for that himself.”

     Eltariel turned to him warily, the moment from the day before still fresh in her memory.

     “I assume the watch was uneventful?” she asked, ignoring the uncomfortableness settling in her gut at his gaze upon her.

     “The animals are still on edge after yesterday’s events with the Nazgûl, but the forest is peaceful otherwise.”

     As Strider’s thoughts turned to the previous day’s events, Talion noticed the concerned expression that took over his face.

     “The Ring-bearer,” Talion began. “When we approached, we saw an elf carrying a hobbit on horseback towards Rivendell. I assume that was him.” Strider looked to him and nodded grimly. “What happened?”

     Strider took a deep breath before answering.

     “He was stabbed by a Morgul blade earlier in our travels. His condition has worsened considerably since, and I fear for his life, though there are no more capable healing hands than those of Lord Elrond. I urged Glorfindel to ride swiftly with Frodo back to Rivendell. He would much rather have faced all of the Nazgûl himself than leave us behind, but when the halflings pleaded for him to save Frodo’s life, he could not deny them.”

     “Rarely have I seen someone emerge from a fight with the Nazgûl alive, much less with only a singular wound. That he still lives, especially given a blade’s effects, is remarkable,” Eltariel told him. 

     “Its effects?” Talion asked.

     “Had we been too late, Frodo would have passed into the realm of shadow and become a wraith, just like the Nine. It is not a fate I can imagine anyone suffering.”

     Talion averted his eyes at that. Eltariel, noticing his discomfort, changed the subject.

     “When the sun has risen enough, we should keep moving. I have no doubt the halflings will be relieved to be reunited with their companion.”

     “Agreed. If we set out before noon, we should reach the city well before sunset… Perhaps if we start breakfast, they’ll awaken sooner,” Strider added thoughtfully. “Though they have more than earned their rest.”

     Breakfast did indeed awaken the hobbits, the sky lighter as midday approached. They thanked Strider, and then Talion, for cooking, approaching him with an apologetic and friendly (but still wary) manner. He waved off their apologies, bidding them to enjoy their meal before the group was to set out again.

     The six arrived in Rivendell with plenty of daylight to spare, the company immediately inquiring about the state of Frodo to the first elf they encountered.

     “He is currently being tended to by Lord Elrond,” one of the sentinels told them, escorting them to the Last Homely House. He cautioned them to watch their step as they headed down into the valley, soft forest paths slick with foliage. “Glorfindel brought him here last night. It is a wonder that he still lives as we speak.”         

     “Can we see him, sir? I have to know that he’s alright with my own eyes,” Sam insisted to the sentinel.

     “I cannot give you the answer you desire, master hobbit. Only Lord Elrond can,” he told him, watching them enter the House with looks of awe.

     The courtyard was a vast open space with a high ceiling, its walls, archways, and staircases adorned with elegantly woven designs and patterns of nature. Footsteps echoed softly on the smooth stone floor along with the soft trickle of water in a fountain framed by two rows of trees and a large elven statue. When Talion looked down, he could almost see his reflection, the darkness of his figure made even more harsh by the sunlight streaming in through the windows and balconies above. He quickly turned his gaze towards the hobbits, their joy and wonder banishing his unpleasant thoughts almost as swiftly as they’d come.

     Strider watched them gape and gawk with a gentle smile, glancing around the courtyard with familiarity.

     “I take it you’ve been to Rivendell before?” Talion asked him.

     “I spent many of my early years here. Lord Elrond raised me like one of his own after my mother passed. Rivendell is as close to a home as I have.”

     As he said those words, Elrond emerged from a side room, looking exhausted after many hours of healing. His eyes brightened when they fell on Strider, who greeted him with warmth.

     “It is good to have you back, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” Elrond told him after a short embrace.

     “I am glad to be back,” Strider responded. “How fares Frodo?”

     Tiredly, Elrond told him, “He is resting. Had he arrived here any later, he may not have survived. I extracted a piece of the Morgul blade from his body, yet even now its magic lingers. It has been many hours, but it is done. I believe he should wake in a few days after his body has had time to recover.”

     “And then?” Strider asked him.

     Elrond gave him, Talion, and Eltariel long looks.

     “Then… a council shall be called.”

     “To discuss the Ring?”

     “Yes, but we shall speak more on the matter when the time draws closer. You should rest while you are still able, for I fear you may not have the opportunity for long,” he addressed the trio, receiving three nods in response before sweeping out of the hall.

     Strider turned to them. 

     “Thank you again for your help,” he told them. “I trust I’ll see you at dinner later?”

     “Of course,” Talion replied.

     With a respectful nod to them both, Strider took his leave, Talion and Eltariel now alone as the hobbits flocked into Frodo’s room as soon as Elrond gave them permission to do so. Eltariel met Talion’s thoughtful gaze.

     “What is it?” she asked.

     “This council… Many events will be set into motion, and many things will be brought to light.”

     His thoughts flashed back to Shelob’s vision. Elves, dwarves, men, and hobbits, would all be in attendance. The One Ring would be there. Isildur’s Ring would be there. The New Ring would be there… 

     “Of that I have no doubt. I only wonder what decision will be reached.” Talion didn’t respond, gaze drifting to a softly glowing Isildur’s Ring as it so often did, worried and weary. She watched him sadly. “Do you worry about what three Rings of Power might do to you?”

     “Don’t you?” Talion questioned, glaring at her with a bitterness that bubbled above the surface without his consent. “Have you not been waiting for the chance to strike me down, in my moment of weakness and temptation?”

     “I do not wish to see you fall to darkness, Talion.” Eltariel’s tone of voice left no room for argument or doubt. She sighed, voice gentler. “I know what I said before. That was… unworthy of me. I do not want to see a good man’s identity taken from him by a helm of evil and servitude, and I don’t think that I will. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You would not be here now if you weren’t.”

     Talion let out a harsh breath, in guilt at his outburst and gratitude at Eltariel’s words.

     “It does worry me,” he answered after a few moments. “And it worries me that many of the others in attendance will have less than good intentions, even without Sauron’s influence.”

     “The Ring must be destroyed. Every Ring must be destroyed.” Her eyes flickered briefly to Isildur’s Ring and then the chain around his neck before returning to his face. “They have caused enough suffering in Middle-earth. I only hope, with some convincing, that the rest of the council will see it that way.”

XxX

     Strider found Talion some time later in the night, sitting and looking out over the city, holding onto the chain around his neck. He took a seat next to him in the soft grass, a line of trees and the waterfalls secluding them from many outside viewers. The air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers, and cool from the rushing waters around them. Above was an unobstructed view of a sky filled with too many constellations to name.

     “I, too, often come here when sleep eludes me, or when I need to be alone with my thoughts. Perhaps I have spent too much time in the company of elves, but the roar of the waterfall and the vastness of the sky are most peaceful in times like these.”

     Talion smiled slightly, though worry was still etched in his features from his earlier conversation with Eltariel.

     “You wouldn’t be the only one. A starry night sky will quiet even the loudest of my thoughts. A night such as this? There is nothing like it.”

     Strider caught the look in his eye.

     “I feel there is more to that statement, just as there seems to be more to you than meets the eye.”

     “I could say the same to you,” Talion responded, echoing his words from before. “We are both surrounded by mystery, for good reason, I assume.”

     He was met with the same appraising look he received upon their first meeting, Strider unsure of the true meaning of those words for a few moments.

     “What is it you would like to know?” he finally asked.

     “What are you willing to share?”

     The night passed with many tales. Strider told Talion of his childhood in Rivendell, raised alongside Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and his daughter, Arwen, growing up in a world of elves and wonders most men could only dream of. Upon discovering his heritage as one of the Dúnedain, he became a ranger, leaving Rivendell to experience the rest of the world and discover who he truly was. His life as a ranger eventually led him to Bree, where he met Frodo and the other hobbits.

     “I have spent a lifetime wondering what my fate would be, where my path would lead me. Now I fear the decision may be out of my hands,” Strider finished.

     “The council?” Talion questioned.

     Strider nodded with a sigh.

     “If what I believe will happen comes to pass, I may have no choice.”

     “Is it the past you run from, or a future you do not wish to embrace?” 

     “I suppose it is a bit of both: the legacy of my ancestors and what I am expected to become.” Strider thought on the question more before asking, “And you? What is it you run from?”

     Talion was silent for a moment.

     “The truth,” he settled on.

     It was then that he, once again, told his story, but this time he started from the very beginning. He told of his life growing up in Minas Tirith, meeting his wife, becoming a ranger, starting a family… and then losing his family and his life. He recounted the rest of his story much the same way he did with Elrond, only this time there was no Eltariel to finish the story when he choked on his words. Strider listened intently and without judgment, lost in thought as Talion finished his tale. Shock was the most prominent emotion he could feel when he finally gathered his thoughts. 

     Another Ring of Power? Being bound to a wraith, cursed to be banished from death? Isildur’s Ring? Isildur… a Nazgûl?! What shook him to his core the most was not the fact that the man sat next to him could potentially become a Nazgûl, nor was it that another Ring of Power existed outside of those told of in legend. No. The fact that Isildur had been one of the Nine… The fact that he had lived centuries as a wraith before being granted true death… His eyes fell to the ring on Talion’s finger, and Talion followed his gaze before meeting Strider’s eyes.

     “What is it?”

     “I…” Strider hesitated, feeling despair rip through his very soul. Could… Could he have that same weakness inside of him? Would he suffer the same fate given similar circumstances? “I just cannot imagine Isildur…”

     Strider looked on in despair, and Talion felt that the look was not just because of Isildur’s fate. 

     “It goes against everything we’ve been told as children, that Isildur did not die as a war hero corrupted by power, but was reborn as a servant of Sauron.”

     “Yes,” he agreed, still reeling from Talion’s tale, gazing at him in wonder. “I have heard stories from rangers and warriors across all of Middle-earth, but nothing they have told me can even begin to compare to what you’ve shared with me today. I’m honored to have your trust with such personal matters.”

     “And I am honored to have yours. You must not give it easily.” 

     “I don’t,” Strider confirmed, expression conflicted. “Frodo nor the rest of my companions know my story yet, though it’s not that I do not trust them. I suppose… I don’t want to involve them in any more danger than they’ve already faced. We nearly lost Frodo. Sam, Merry, Pippin: any one of them could have shared the same, or an even worse, fate.”

     “I understand. Do you think their journey will reach its end after the Council, that they might return to their homes once a decision is reached?”

     Talion watched as Strider seemed to realize something, defeat falling over his features.

     “I cannot say for sure, but… I have a feeling that their journey is far from over.”

     A contemplative silence fell between them before the two eventually fared each other well, heading back inside before the night’s end.

Translations

(Q): Avatyara ni → Forgive me

Chapter Text

The Council of Elrond

     In the few days leading up to the Council, Talion saw several parties arrive in Rivendell. While he usually spent most of his time with Bilbo, Elrond, or Strider, he felt the need to greet their visitors.

     The first were a group of elves, who were nice enough after introductions were made. One in particular, Legolas, warmed up to him quickly after a quip in Sindarin that left one of his companions quite red in the face at lunch that day. In Talion’s defense, the elf had it coming for thinking he could talk about him behind his back. While the rest of his company stared at Talion in shock, whether from his use of Sindarin or the quip itself, Legolas laughed heartily, inviting Talion to join them at their table in the Hall of Fire and apologizing for his companion. Eltariel greeted the Prince of Mirkwood, as she would later tell Talion, as an old friend, having spent a winter in Thranduil’s kingdom after a mission gone wrong as a young elleth.

     “Prince of Mirkwood?”

     Talion paled, not even considering that there would be royalty and other lords and leaders in Rivendell for the Council.

     Eltariel smirked at the panic on his face, but quickly reassured him.

     “Not to worry. He never cared much for the title, though he can certainly live up to it in the right circumstances.”

     “I take it you’ve witnessed that firsthand?”

     She nodded.

     “Even his father was impressed with him that day. I don’t think King Thranduil had ever seen him take charge like that before.”

     “A story you’ll both have to share with me another time, I’m sure.”

     The next day saw a party of men arrive. The man leading them, Boromir, he introduced himself as, greeted Talion with warmth, glad to see a friendly face in a realm of elves. At dinner, he revealed that he and his party had arrived from Minas Tirith, and Talion took the opportunity to inquire about his old home. Boromir seemed reluctant to speak in front of his companions, so Talion pulled him aside to continue the conversation. He told Talion about Gondor’s prosperity… at the cost of his father’s sanity. He told of his concern for Denethor’s desire for “Isildur’s Bane,” how the very idea of Gondor in possession of such an item was slowly driving his father to madness. His father had sent him to retrieve the Ring, and though he himself was against the idea, he would not deny that he wished to see it with his own eyes to decide just how dangerous of an object it truly was. 

     Eltariel didn’t seem to trust Boromir very much.

     “Why not?” Talion asked her.

     “He is Denethor’s favorite son, the elder and more reckless of the two. If anything, I expected him to send Faramir. He, at least, has some skill in politics, and common sense.”

     “I do admit, he did seem eager to see the One Ring with his own eyes…” 

     “And you believe he has honest intentions?”

     He frowned.

     “I do. He was fearful when speaking of his father’s obsession over the Ring. I don’t think he wants it in Gondor any more than the rest of us.”

     Eltariel didn’t look too sure about that.

     “Men are easily corrupted by the Rings.” She winced at the glare she received from Talion. “I simply mean that he may quickly change his tune once he lays eyes on it. Not everyone is as resistant to their power as you.”

     Talion sighed, knowing that she was right.

     “True enough. Let us hope the council has more sense than that when everyone is here.”

     “Lord Elrond and Mithrandir are not so naïve or foolish to trust Gondor to safeguard the One Ring. They will want to destroy it just as much as we do.”

     “I hope the others are of the same mind.”

     The day of the official council meeting arrived along with a party of dwarves, several of whom didn’t seem to be especially excited to be in Rivendell. They took a bit longer to warm up to Talion, though a round of drinks and war stories quickly changed their tune, he found at breakfast. The dwarf Gimli was especially animated, and challenged Talion to a drinking contest at the next available opportunity. Talion promised to think about it as they left the Hall of Fire, and Eltariel watched them go with abhorrence. Talion didn’t miss the look.  

     “At least they’ll all be sober during the council meeting,” she remarked, scowling. “Although that might not matter in the slightest.” Talion regarded her for a moment, and she caught his eye. “It is not that I share my brethren’s hate and distrust of dwarves. I have just encountered too many of Durin’s more hotheaded, arrogant, and selfish folk in my travels.”

     “I admit they can be a bit brash and excitable , but they are a fine folk once you get to know them.”

     “Torvin was tolerable at best, if he could shut up about how many creatures he’d killed long enough to have an actual conversation.”

     “When did the two of you meet?”

     “I once found him caught in the middle of a pair of fighting graugs. Suffice it to say he was grateful for a swift escape.”

     Talion couldn’t help but laugh.

     “I bet he claimed he’d never live down being rescued like that.”

     “He’s lucky I heard his frantic yelling, or I would’ve just gone back the way I came!”

     The rest of the morning went by fairly quickly, with Sam, Merry, and Pippin cheerfully introducing a recently woken Frodo to Talion. The hobbit’s room was connected to a balcony that had a gorgeous view of most of Rivendell. Warm sunlight and a fresh and gentle breeze wafted through the room as the trio told Frodo of Talion and Eltariel’s daring rescue of them at the Ford. The poor hobbit seemed a bit confused, and had a look of sadness in his eyes that Talion couldn’t help but notice.

     “It pleases me to see you in such good health, Frodo. I am Talion.”

     He held out his hand, which Frodo took after a moment, but not without noticing Isildur’s Ring. His eyes went wide, and he stared at Talion in a mix of astonishment, sorrow, and relief.

     “You’re a Ring-bearer too?”

     Talion nodded after a moment, sharing in the feeling of knowing that someone else understands .

     “Yes. I’ll be at the council meeting to offer input if needed, and to ensure no one gets any ideas about taking your Ring.”

     “I still don’t see why we can’t be there,” Sam chimed in. “We already know about the Black Riders and the Ring. It isn’t fair that we have to wait to hear what happens. We have just as much right as anyone else who’s going to be there.”

     Talion remembered Strider’s words from several nights ago as Sam tried to make his point. I suppose… I don’t want to involve them in any more danger than they’ve already faced… Any one of them could have shared the same, or an even worse, fate.

     “I see your point, but the matters they plan to discuss are dark and dangerous, far more dangerous than anything the three of you could possibly dream of,” Talion told them. The three, Pippin in particular, looked even more discouraged at that. As Frodo gave them apologetic looks as he took his leave, Talion followed behind, telling them with a small smile, “But no one has to know you’re there.”

     Sam looked surprised, but Pippin and Merry wore twin mischievous grins. Talion hoped they wouldn’t get into too much trouble afterward.

XxX

     It was nearly noon by the time most of the members of the council arrived at the designated meeting place. The porch of the Last Homely House was surrounded by trees, greenery, statues, and other buildings. The round stone gathering place currently held a semicircle of twenty chairs, a small circular pedestal at its center. An extra seat had been added for Eltariel next to Legolas, who greeted her kindly as everyone else seated themselves. Elrond sat at the open end of the semicircle, Erestor and Glorfindel on either side of him. To Elrond’s left sat Frodo, Bilbo, Gandalf, and representatives from Mirkwood. To his right sat representatives of Gondor, the Lonely Mountain, and Strider. Talion situated himself outside of the gathering in a corner of the building walls enclosing one part of the area, where he was still able to observe the meeting’s proceedings.

     Rivendell’s normally calming, protective atmosphere felt… different. There was something sinisterly familiar in the air that Talion was almost sure was the One Ring, Sauron’s influence unmistakable. He had a bad feeling about what the sight of the Ring would do to anyone if just being in its vicinity did this. He could feel everyone’s tension and unease from where he stood.

     “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old… You’ve been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor…”

     Talion watched each of the council members carefully as Elrond spoke. He knew some were there with good and honest intentions, while others… Others sought power and control. He listened as Bilbo and Gandalf told the tale of the One Ring, how Bilbo had first discovered it and the events that unfolded afterward. When it was confirmed that what they were talking about was indeed the One Ring of legend, the other groups relayed why they had come.

     Glóin, the father of Gimli, told of messengers who’d arrived in Erebor inquiring about the whereabouts of Bilbo Baggins, who had taken something that didn’t belong to him, and about the disappearance of Balin, Ori, and Óin into Moria. Legolas spoke of Gollum’s escape from Mirkwood’s dungeons. Gollum had revealed to him and Gandalf that he’d been captured and taken to Mordor, where he’d given up Bilbo’s name and location to escape further torture. Boromir spoke of Mordor’s continued, increasingly aggressive, assaults on Osgiliath and their easternmost lands, and the growing concerns that an army was amassing in preparation for a declaration of war. News of the One Ring had reached Gondor, and Denethor had hope that the Ring had answers for why Mordor had suddenly become more active and if the tide of battle could be changed.

     Once all parties had spoken, Elrond said, “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

     Talion watched with everyone else as Frodo placed a small, nondescript gold ring on the stone pedestal at the center of the meeting place. As soon as Talion got a clear look at the One Ring, he could hardly pay attention to Boromir’s next words as the New Ring burned hot and bright on its chain. He briefly grabbed it with a silent gasp, staring at it in confusion as images of a bruised and battered Celebrimbor staring down a smirking, but winded Sauron with less than good intentions flashed through his mind. He braced himself against the wall and took a deep breath as his vision returned to normal. Isildur’s Ring pulsed on his hand almost in greeting to the familiar power and presence. It was then that he could hear faint whispers of the One Ring’s ancient, dark magic, and he saw its effects on the council members, who all gazed at it with a mix of shock, awe, and fear, leaning forward in their seats to get a closer look.

     It wasn’t until Boromir had made it to the stone pedestal, reaching to take the Ring in a mesmerized state, that Talion intervened. He shadow struck Boromir, grabbing his outstretched arm in a death grip as Gandalf chanted the One Ring’s inscription in Black Speech. The words glowed like lava across the golden band, absorbing all the light surrounding it. The elves gripped their heads in pain, eyes squeezed shut; the dwarves shouted in alarm, covering their ears; the men cowered and despaired; and the hobbits stared transfixed and horrified at the Ring as an unnatural darkness descended upon Rivendell for a brief moment, a boom! of thunder echoing through the air. 

     Boromir stumbled backwards in terror into his seat as Talion abruptly let go of his arm, unsettled at the sound of Sauron’s warped, dark laughter following the end of Gandalf’s words. He took a few steps back from the One Ring, catching Eltariel’s eye across the area. Never before had she seen such fear within him, and he’d stared down Sauron himself without so much as a tremble! Talion glared at the One Ring once he recovered. Even halfway across Middle-earth, Sauron laughed at him, toyed with him just as he had atop Barad-dur not too long ago, refusing to take Talion, or any other threat, seriously. He thrived on the seeds of hopelessness and fright that he’d planted since the moment he’d arrived in Middle-earth, and nothing at the moment could stop him except the one thing that would find its way back to him by any means necessary.

     “Never before has anyone uttered that tongue here in Imladris,” Elrond directed at Gandalf with a piercing look.

     Gandalf leaned on his staff for support, looking drained but unapologetic as he took his seat.

     “I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil.”

     “It is a gift,” a now recovered and entranced Boromir countered.

     “A gift?” Talion questioned, outraged, finally breaking his silence. All eyes were on him now, some wary, and many curious about what their newcomer had to say. “That Ring has corrupted the hearts of many people, good people, honorable people. It changed even Isildur himself, and when his obsession over the Ring proved to be too much, it led him to his death!”

     “Isildur is but one man who simply lost his way. He had no use for the Ring except as a keepsake, a trophy, a reminder of a glorious victory. You’re right. It did lead him astray, but this time is different! This time, the Ring would have a purpose!”

     Boromir was intent on making Talion see reason, but Talion would have none of it.

     “And how many others have said something similar, have suffered the same fate?! Even a lesser Ring of Power would eventually have the same effect. Slowly, day by day, it eats at your will, whispers empty promises and false dreams in your ear, until one day you look in the mirror and don’t recognize yourself anymore.”

     “And just how would you know about such a thing?” Gimli questioned, eyes narrowed. “The only lesser Ring you could possibly have is one of the Rings of Men, and the Nazgul have them all.”

     Talion grimaced, already regretting the idea in his head.

     “Not all of them,” Eltariel told him in dismay, knowing exactly what Talion intended to do.

     She received many confused looks, and of the confused council members Legolas was the first to realize what she meant. He’d seen it upon meeting Talion, but never did he imagine… 

     “You don’t mean…?”

     Closing his eyes, Talion listened to his Ring’s dark whispers, felt his anger and contempt for Sauron and the Nazgûl threaten to bubble over the surface, saw Barad-dûr crumbling and engulfed in flames, heard the shrieks and screams of those who would someday fall by his hand. The council members tensed then shouted in alarm as darkness once again descended upon Rivendell. Black spread through his veins, spider webbing across his face. As he opened his eyes, the color of fire overtook his irises. A strong wind whipped his hood over his head as green and black tendrils of cold, vile energy shrouded him. Several swords and axes were raised in response to the drastic physical change, Elrond, Aragorn, Eltariel, and Gandalf’s shouts barely enough to keep the on edge council members at bay.

     “You brought a Nazgûl to our council meeting?!” Gimli demanded to know.

     He put all of his strength behind a swing aimed at Talion, but Talion was ready. Drawing Urfael in the blink of an eye, he countered the blow in an instant, a clever parry sending Gimli’s axe sailing through the air behind him, clattering to the ground and skidding underneath his chair.

     “Make no mistake, I am no Nazgûl,” Talion told him, hissing at the sinister, spectral sound of his voice. “Though I am well on my way to becoming one. It is the price I pay for freeing the original wielder of the Ring,” he continued, catching Strider’s eyes in understanding before looking back to Gimli. “And it is a burden I chose, and continue to choose, to bear.”

     Gimli fumed, wrenching an axe out of one of his companion’s hands for another attempt at ending Talion’s life. In an instant, Eltariel was on her feet, blocking Gimli’s blow with gritted teeth and throwing him back with a grunt. He growled, tossing the borrowed axe back to its rightful owner in defeat.

     “I think your point has been made, Talion,” Eltariel remarked, eyeing him with concern. “And if you truly worry for your life, Master Dwarf…” With a blaze of light, Eltariel enveloped and shielded herself, Gimli, and the rest of his companions. “The Light of Galadriel ensures that no entity of darkness can reach us.”

     To demonstrate, Talion attempted to walk through the barrier, sword pointed forward. The barrier stretched inwards a few feet, but held, deflecting each swipe Talion aimed at it. Eltariel barely kept herself from flinching at the eerily familiar sight, blinking away the flashes of her newest nightmare. As the two sheathed their weapons, Eltariel dropped the barrier, but kept a close eye on Gimli, whose glare appeared vicious enough to kill. They took their seats again. Talion tried to focus on the feeling of the still vigorously burning New Ring around his neck. He tried to let go of some of his anger and hatred for Sauron and the Nazgûl, to remember himself, to distance himself from the darkness, but… His eyes slowly fell on the One Ring. 

      It calls to you, Ranger. Can’t you feel it? Our master desires what is rightfully his. Now is your chance to take it. Who could stop you?

     The Witch-king’s words made Talion cringe, and he grit his teeth against the pull of an all too familiar and sinister magic. He clenched his hands into fists, grinding them against the too smooth stone pedestal—and when had he moved back towards it?—until the feeling began to subside. As images of the One Ring upon his finger and the might of all of Mordor at his back entered his mind, the burning of the New Ring turning painful snapped him out of his trance. With effort, he tore his gaze away, the pain dissipating, eyes now fixed on a paralyzed Boromir.

     “The One Ring would drive you to madness. Purpose or no purpose, it would bend you to its will eventually. One way or another, you would fall prey to its influence.”

     Boromir gulped, but met Talion’s gaze.

     “You say you chose this burden… but why? If,” he gestured to Talion uncertainly, “this is what happens as a result of wearing that ring, then why?”

     Talion sighed, looking down at Isildur’s Ring.

     “I was lying in a pool of my own blood, my life slowly draining out of me, when I put this ring on. I made a promise to undo all of the evil that came from my failure to keep Sauron and the Nazgûl at bay in Mordor, that my fate would be my own, and that no matter how long it took I wouldn’t lose myself to the darkness so long as I had something to fight for…” He looked around at the rest of the council members. “I chose this burden because I knew that if Mordor fell, so would the rest of Middle-earth. I fight for a future without the worry of a Great Eye, of the Nine, of an army of orcs or dark creatures. I fight for a future of peace. That is my purpose.”

     “Then there is hope yet,” Boromir said with an unnatural gleam in his eyes, flames dancing along his irises as he stood to address the council. Talion grit his teeth seeing how the One Ring twisted Boromir’s will and intentions. “If he can do it, why can’t one of us? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe.” Strider and Talion, and then Eltariel and Talion, shared a look of frustration and concern. “There are many strong willed, honorable, driven men like yourself within our walls,” he told Talion, before imploring to the rest of the council, “Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!”

     “If a lesser Ring can change someone in such a way, what hope do you have of fighting the One Ring?” questioned Eltariel. “Listen to yourself. You’ve already fallen under its spell. It would never serve you!”

     “You cannot wield it. None of us can,” Strider agreed, drawing Boromir’s attention. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

     “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” Boromir asked with a sneer.

     “He is no mere Ranger,” Legolas declared, standing from his seat with a glare. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

     Talion’s eyes widened, falling on a clearly unprepared Aragorn. Everyone turned in his direction as Boromir addressed him.

     “Aragorn. This… is Isildur’s heir?”

     “And heir to the throne of Gondor,” Legolas told him.

     “Havodad, Legolas,” Aragorn told him with a sigh. Legolas met his gaze defiantly, but took his seat again. He then told Boromir, “He speaks the truth. I am Isildur’s heir, and I will one day return to Gondor. As a king or as just another man, I do not yet know. What of it?”

     Boromir made his way back to his seat, voice venomous as he replied.

     “Gondor has no king… Gondor needs no king.”

     Aragorn met his challenging gaze, unphased by Boromir’s anger and contempt. Gandalf was the next to speak, breaking the tense silence.

     “Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.”

     “Throw it into the sea or off of a cliff, then. Who would be able to find it?” asked one of Boromir’s companions.

     “Bury it under a mountain,” said a dwarf.

     “Send it to the Valar or someone immune to the effects of evil,” one of the elves chimed in.

     “To discard it or hide it would only delay its return to Sauron. The Ring always finds its way into unknowing hands, and corrupts anyone who possesses it, no matter how strong or pure of heart they may be.”

     Gandalf’s words halted any more suggestions from the group. At this, Elrond stood, sensing his opportunity.

     “You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed.”

     Eltariel let out a breath of relief.

     “Finally, someone with sense,” she muttered under her breath.

     It was then that Gimli grabbed his axe from under his chair.

     “Then what are we waiting for?”

     With a battle cry he swung his axe down on the One Ring, only for it to shatter on impact as he went flying backwards. Shards of metal rung harshly against the stone floor, scattering at the council members’ feet. Talion saw Frodo flinch in his seat, checked on by Gandalf; Bilbo looked a bit unnerved as well. Gimli sat up from his place on the ground, bewildered.

     “The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess… The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade… One of you must do this.”

     The council fell silent, trying to process the daunting, near impossible task set before them. Boromir had his face in his hands, just as stunned and lost as everyone else.

     “One does not simply walk into Mordor,” he remarked, sitting back up straight. “Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the Great Eye… is ever watchful.” Many council members paled at that. “It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume…” He shook his head hopelessly. “Not with ten-thousand men could you do this. It is folly.”

     “You won’t need ten thousand men,” Talion told him, startling the council. “For the last several decades, I have fought my way through orcs, trolls, fire drakes, creatures and monstrosities you could only imagine. And yes, much of the land is bleak, crumbling, dying… but there is more to Mordor than that. There are forests and plains as far as the eye can see in one direction, and snowy mountains and frozen lakes in the other. There are those who stand against Sauron, entire civilizations that survive under the harshest of conditions, fighting for Middle-earth’s freedom. There are armies…” He turned to Eltariel, who nodded in encouragement for him to continue. “That fight, united under a banner against Sauron and his forces of darkness. Nurn, Cirith Ungol, Seregost, Gorgoroth… Minas Morgul, are all allies against him.”

     “I’ve heard enough!” Gimli shouted. “Mordor is a land of evil. There are no armies or outposts that would fight with us. Orcs are all the same: they’re vile, unfeeling freaks of nature. Killing is all they want to do, and they serve no one but Sauron! And why should we trust you when you wear the face of an enemy and a Ring to serve him with?”

     “These armies you mention,” Aragorn began, choosing to ignore Gimli’s outburst. “Who do they follow?”

     “You believe him?” Boromir questioned.

     “They follow me,” Talion answered without hesitation.

     “You’re insane!” Boromir exclaimed.

     “How’d you do it?” Legolas suddenly asked. Gimli and Boromir looked at him as if he were crazy. “How did you get them to follow you?”

     Talion took a deep breath before answering.

     “In the beginning… I forced them under my influence with a brand,” he held up one hand, which glowed green with magic, “In an attempt to take back the Black Gate and the land we lost. Over time, however, I no longer needed to, nor did I desire to. Orcs would come willingly, offering their service in the hopes of being able to live freely, out from under Sauron’s thumb… They are a people, the same as dwarves, elves, hobbits, and men. They have homes, customs, traditions, a culture that brings even the most vicious of their society together. Many of them want Sauron gone just as much as we do.”

     “And they would help us, these orcs of yours?” Gandalf asked. “If we were to reach Mordor, they would be our allies and not our enemies?”

     “Yes,” Talion stressed.

     “I’ve witnessed it firsthand,” Eltariel spoke up, standing and joining Talion’s side. “Talion had found me imprisoned at the top of Barad-dur, and brought me to one of his strongholds. His orcs insisted on nursing me back to health until our departure, offering clothes, food, and medicine. However strange it was, they were far from the orcs that attack anyone on sight.”

     “Are you offering to take the Ring, Talion?”

     “Now wait just a minute!” Gimli commanded.

     “You can’t be serious!” Boromir declared.

     “No,” Talion replied quietly, stopping their arguments before they could start. “I have my own Ring to struggle with. I have held out this long, but I know that I wouldn’t be strong enough to withstand the One Ring. And… I know that it is not my burden to bear.”

     His eyes fell to Frodo, who fearfully met his gaze. To everyone’s surprise, it was Bilbo who spoke up next.

     “Then why don’t I take it?”

     “Uncle!” Frodo exclaimed.

     “I’ve worn it before. I know the dangers, and I’m not afraid. I started this mess. The least I can do is finish it. Let me do it.”

     “You cannot,” Gandalf told him. “It has been many years since your last adventure, old friend, and as noble of an offer as that is, you are no longer the Ring’s bearer, and cannot take it back. No, the task must fall to someone else.”

     “It is pointless to debate!” Boromir told them, standing. “Armies of ally orcs in Mordor is insanity. The only orcs we’ll meet are the ones eager to put our heads on pikes. Taking the Ring there is asking for death. There must be something else we can do!”

     “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond just said?” Legolas questioned angrily, rising to his feet. “The Ring must be destroyed!”  

     “And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it?!” Gimli accused hostilely.

     “And if we fail, what then?” Boromir questioned. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!”

     “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!” Gimli declared.

     That comment sent the council into an uproar, almost everyone now on their feet, debating and arguing, threatening and accusing. Talion and Eltariel looked around in alarm at the chaos. Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel surveyed the events unfolding with no clue how to defuse the situation. All the while, Frodo sat, staring transfixed and panicked at the One Ring. Bilbo followed his gaze, desperately trying and failing to get Frodo’s attention, knowing that look. Suddenly, Frodo stood, something snapping within him.

     “I will take it!” he declared, drawing Talion and Eltariel’s attention. “I will take it!” he shouted again, and the noise died down as everyone turned to look at him, astonished. Gandalf looked to him in despair, but could not help feeling proud of his bravery. “I will take the Ring to Mordor… though, I do not know the way.”

     Gandalf was the first to join his side.

     “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as it is yours to bear.”

     Aragorn joined them next.

     “By my life or death, if I can protect you, I will,” he told him, kneeling down to him and taking his hand briefly. “You have my sword.”

     Gandalf and Elrond shared a relieved look.

     “And you have my bow,” Legolas added, joining them also.

     “And my axe,” Gimli assured, much to Legolas’ displeasure. 

     Boromir, to everyone’s surprise, stepped up soon after.

     “You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done.”

     “Here!” a voice suddenly chimed in, Sam sprinting to Frodo’s side. “Mr. Frodo’s not going anywhere without me.”

     “No, indeed. It is hardly possible to separate you two, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not,” Elrond agreed, failing to hold back an amused smile.

     “Hey! We’re coming too!” another new voice shouted. Elrond turned in shock to see Merry and Pippin running to join the group. Talion couldn’t hide a smile of his own, but quickly dropped it as Elrond looked at him as if to ask if he knew about them being there. “You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us.”

     “Anyway, you need people with intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing,” Pippin finally settled on. 

     “Well, that rules you out, Pip,” Merry told him.

     Gandalf looked on at the pair in exasperated fondness.

     “We set out from Mordor at the news of the One Ring’s discovery, to ensure its destruction and Sauron’s demise. I would do everything within my power to help you, and I would join you, if you’ll have me,” Talion told them.

     “I offer my blades as well,” Eltariel told them. “You will be faced with many dangers along the way. If I am able to fight against them so that this quest can succeed, then I would be honored to join you.”

     Aragorn and the hobbits looked to them gratefully as they also joined the group, Gandalf and Legolas regarding them warily, but kindly.

     “Eleven companions…” Elrond observed. “So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

     “Fellowship,” Frodo whispered, testing the word. 

     Gimli and Boromir seemed to have some choice words for Talion, but the moment was thankfully interrupted by Pippin, effectively shattering the volatile atmosphere and drawing a few chuckles out of everyone as he asked, “Right, where are we going?” 

Translations

(S): Havodad → Sit down

Chapter Text

Reflection and Departure

     After the Council was dismissed, the various members of the Fellowship went their separate ways for the rest of the day. Talion and Eltariel watched each group leave the meeting place, until just the two of them remained. As soon as the One Ring was out of sight, Talion felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders, and he took a deep, steadying breath. Eltariel, too, felt relieved.

     “The One Ring. What… happened?” she asked, worry evident in her voice. “The way you looked at it…”

     “I… I’m not completely sure, but…” He brought the now normal looking New Ring into view, considering it carefully. “As soon as I laid eyes on the One Ring, I saw something. The New Ring started glowing, burning, and…”

     He paused, the images flashing through his mind again, and he couldn’t help the stab of worry in his gut at the memory of an injured Celebrimbor.

     “What did you see?” 

     “Celebrimbor,” he told her after a moment. “And Sauron. They looked as if they’d been fighting.”

     “How is that possible? How could you see them when they’re halfway across Middle-earth?”

     Talion thought on the question himself, and it wasn’t long before he came up with an answer.

     “I do not know for sure… but I have a theory.” If Talion could see Celebrimbor because their souls were bonded within the New Ring, did that mean the New Ring was reacting to the part of Sauron’s soul that resided in the One Ring now that Celebrimbor and Sauron were bound? “And I hope that I am wrong.”

     Without explaining further, Talion turned to walk back up the path everyone had left by, dropping the New Ring back out of sight. Eltariel followed, and the two passed the various groups from the council as they wandered Rivendell in silence for a while.

     The men of Gondor seemed reluctant to let Boromir go, but accepted that there was nothing they could do about the decision. The same seemed to be true of the Mirkwood elves, who were not so keen to see their prince set off on yet another long, dangerous adventure, but wished him nothing less than the best. The dwarves seemed the least worried of the groups, instead making Gimli promise to regale them with plenty of tales of battles and far off lands when he returned to them safely, though Talion was sure they were saying that, in part, to hide their concern. The hobbits were the most worried, Sam and Frodo quietly discussing the many possible happenings of the journey ahead while Merry was in deep conversation with Pippin, whose earlier smile and humor disappeared more and more the longer the two spoke.

     “I don’t think they’ve realized just what it is they’ve volunteered to do,” Eltariel told him sadly, watching them for a few moments. “I don’t think they can even fathom…”

     “I know… but do any of us truly understand what we’ve agreed to? There’s no telling what we’ll encounter on our way to Mordor. Orcs and the Nazgûl, of course, but there will be more than just physical enemies that threaten us. And… there’s no telling what kind of chaos three Rings of Power can create.”

     “The New Ring has never tried to ensnare others before.” She grimaced. “Not without help, at least.”

     “It reacts whenever the One Ring is in my sights. I don’t know if that was a one time occurrence, but I’m willing to bet it wasn’t. There’s no telling how that might affect it. And I can only hope the Rings won’t cause any tension between Frodo and myself.”

     The poor hobbit had already been through enough already. He didn’t need a potentially dangerous Talion to add to his concerns.

     “And Isildur’s Ring? Now that it is close to the One Ring, do you worry?”

     Talion sighed, but nodded.

     “Yes. It’s bad enough that I hear the Witch-king in my head whenever Isildur’s Ring’s pull is too great, but to hear Sauron as well…”

     He trailed off and shook his head, trying not to dwell on it. They continued walking, finding themselves following one of the forest trails near the outskirts of the city when next they spoke. The quiet was comforting, only trees, plants, and the occasional small animal a witness to their conversation. The chirping of birds, scurrying of tiny feet, and rustling of leaves in the wind was almost enough to make them forget where they were. The shared thought of the Forest of Carnán being more comforting than Rivendell somehow eased a little of the anxiety they both carried.

     “Do you worry about our companions?” Eltariel asked, drawing a curious glance from Talion. “You have that look in your eyes when you’re stewing about something.”

     Talion didn’t answer immediately, instead focusing on the way his boots left impressions in the soft dirt of the path they were walking. Impressions, he mused. What a wonderful first impression he’d given their soon to be new companions. He hadn’t been thinking enough when he called upon the power of Isildur’s Ring. Surely, if they only saw what a Ring of Power could do, they would choose to destroy the One Ring instead of keep it? He’d failed to consider what the sight would mean for their opinions of him. Had he already jeopardized this quest before it could even truly begin?

     “I want them to trust me, and I know that trust must be earned. Not everyone in the Fellowship is as discerning as Aragorn or as open-minded as the hobbits. They are afraid,” Talion told her, “of what I might do, that I could turn on them. I know they may never see me as an ally. I’ve accepted that fact, but I do not wish for my presence to cause distractions or endanger us on our journey.”

     Talion finally looked to Eltariel then, his expression softening at just how truly worried she seemed.

     “But that’s not all that’s on your mind, is it?” he asked quietly.

     She shook her head, eyes cast downward.

     “No. Seeing you at the council meeting, and even now as your dark visage remains… I…”

     He waited patiently as she tried to find the right words, taking in her frustration at her struggle.

     “Eltariel—”

     “I did this to you,” she finally stated, voice barely above a whisper.

     Talion stilled, Eltariel taking a few extra steps to put distance between them before stopping as well. She couldn’t meet his eyes, whatever mask she’d tried to hide behind since leaving Mordor crumbling.

     “You didn’t make me wear Isildur’s Ring. I chose to. I knew what it meant if I did.”

     “Only because I took the New Ring from you. I went with Celebrimbor to the top of Barad-dûr and left you to die on that bridge.” She gave a sad, broken laugh. “All the arguing, the bickering, the jests… I thought if I tried to act normal, like everything in the past couldn’t reach me, that I might stop feeling this soul crushing guilt.” She shook her head. “But that only made it worse. I’m accustomed to problems I can stab, problems I can strategize for and eliminate. Not something like this. I left you to die and gave you no other choice but to condemn yourself to a fate of eternal struggle, of darkness unending. I did this to you… and you saved me anyway.”

     Talion felt the remnants of Sauron’s magic clinging to him from the One Ring, feeding into Isildur’s Ring’s strangling hold on him, dissipate, movements less heavy and the air a little easier to breathe. He slowly made his way towards her as she scowled at the tears gathering in her eyes.

     “How am I any better than the ones we stand against?” Her eyes fell on the Light of Galadriel. “How can I still be worthy to bear this symbol of light and honor when I abandoned both when the world needed them most?”

     She startled as she felt a gloved hand gently clasp her shoulder, hesitantly meeting Talion’s now blue-eyed gaze.

     “You saw a chance to do good by your own hands. Instead of orders, you were given a choice, a once in a lifetime choice. Who would say no in your position?”

     “You did,” she told him softly. “Every time evil calls and beckons, you turn away and deny it. The One Ring was within your grasp at the council meeting. You could have taken it and fled, and none of us would have had the power to stop you. But you didn’t.”

     “And would taking it have made me a horrible person? Would it make me beyond saving, beyond forgiving?” She opened and then closed her mouth, shaking her head. “No. Celebrimbor saw an opportunity to use the New Ring to twist your ambition and sense of purpose to his advantage. The New Ring twisted his desire for vengeance against Sauron in much the same way.” Talion lowered his hood, reaching up to hold the New Ring in the hand that held Isildur’s. Fiery red and wraith blue glowed brightly in the shade of the trees around them. “But our choices alone do not define us. It is why we make those choices and what we do after we make them that show us what kind of people we really are.”

     “I…”

     She shook her head again, thinking better of the self-deprecating quip on the tip of her tongue as she gazed at the Rings.

     “I have done many things I’m not proud of, for reasons that I’m not proud of. Saving you, even with my initial intention, is not one of them.”

     A short, delicate hush fell over the forest at those words, broken by Eltariel’s soft huff of laughter.

     “You always have been full of surprises, Talion.” She met his eyes again. “I am sorry for all of the pain I have caused you.”

     “Forgiven,” he told her with a small smile that she eventually returned. “Let it trouble you no further.” He let his arms fall back to his side, taking a step back so that he invaded her space no longer. “There is still time before we depart to show our allies who we really are, beyond what they saw at the council.”

     She saw his smile waver at that.

     “Celebrimbor is not the only one who believes in you. You have me. You have Aragorn, Frodo and Sam, Merry and Pippin. Soon it will be the entire Fellowship.” Eltariel smirked as Talion startled at her initial statement. “Who else could call you away from the waking world, except the one whose soul is bound to yours? And who else could you be thinking about every time you hold the New Ring when you think I’m not looking?” 

     Talion scoffed, but didn’t deny the statements.

     “Alright, I think you’ve made your point,” he replied. A huge weight had been lifted off both of their shoulders after what had been a daunting and exhausting day. “Thank you, for staying. I know you did not want to come with me at first. You could have left at any time, but you didn’t.”

     “Well, someone has to ensure you make it back to Mordor in one piece.”

     He snorted, taking the hint that their heart to heart was over.

     “Perhaps we should return, before night falls.”

     “Perhaps,” Eltariel agreed, leading the way back into the city, a comfortable silence settling between the two. As the Last Homely House entered into their sights, she told him quietly, “I think… I finally understand you, Ranger.”

     As they took their seats across from each other at Elrond’s table, Talion replied, “And I, you.”

XxX

     “What do you mean we have to wait?” an irked Boromir asked the next day.

     Elrond and Gandalf had called the members of the Fellowship to discuss their next course of action, and it seemed a few of them weren’t very happy with what they’d been told. They were all gathered on one of the balconies of the Last Homely House, with a view of waterfalls roaring in one direction and the quiet city in another. 

     “Frodo has barely been awake for an entire day, and though his injury has been healed, its effects have not. To leave now would put his life in danger,” Elrond began.

     “And I’m sure you’ll want to know that the paths you choose to take are safe. Unless you’d like to risk the Nazgûl or a band of orcs catching you out in the open?” Gandalf asked.

     Boromir fell silent at that.

     “Let them come. We’ll be ready for them,” Gimli declared. 

     Eltariel, Aragorn, and Talion shared the same look of exasperation.

     “We are sending out various groups to scout the areas ahead. We want to ensure your safety upon your departure, and it will give us an idea of the enemy’s movements. I am sure you are all weary from your travels. Take this time to rest, and further prepare yourselves for the perilous journey ahead of you.”

     The hobbits looked the most relieved of the group, glad that they would not be made to set out immediately. Legolas and Aragorn seemed to be in agreement with Elrond and Gandalf, but Boromir and Gimli didn’t look pleased with the news. A majority of the Fellowship left after a few questions, Gimli glaring at Talion and Eltariel as he went and Boromir fixing them with an unreadable look as he passed. Aragorn stayed behind, asking Elrond if he could join one of the scouting parties, while Talion and Eltariel directed their questions to Gandalf. 

     “How long will the scouts be gone?” Talion asked.

     “It is hard to say. Some of our scouts will be meeting with the Rangers to cover more ground, and some will go as far as the Mirkwood and Lothlórien. Should things go well, and without much delay, perhaps one or two months.”

      “Months? But…”

     “Are you so eager to leave, Talion?” Gandalf asked.

     Talion shook his head after a moment.

     “No. It’s just… much can happen in such a span of time, and there is the question of what to do until we can depart.”

     “Enjoy the reprieve while it is available,” Gandalf answered simply. “Rivendell is a beautiful place. There is much to be seen and learned here, and I’m sure you will have no problems finding any information you seek,” he answered, with yet another gleam in his eye that had Talion bursting to know just how the wizard seemed to know everything.

     “I… shall keep that in mind.”

     Eltariel smirked at Talion’s expression before addressing Gandalf with seriousness.

     “Do you think they’ll encounter any immediate threats?”

     “Again, it is hard to say. There have been no reports of orcs or enemies in the surrounding areas since my arrival here, and the Ford has swept the Nazgûl away. No doubt, they won’t be eager to meet such a magically powerful foe as Lord Elrond. I do not believe so, but Talion is right in saying that much can happen in a month, or two. We can only hope for the best.” 

XxX

     “… And what do you think of—”

     Bilbo cut himself off as he took in Talion’s distracted expression. The man wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. The two had been working on a chapter for There and Back Again in Bilbo’s room, Bilbo asking for Talion’s input on how best to pace and separate certain parts of his journey. He had just been about to ask the best way to organize his first time using the One Ring during an escape of a small goblin army, sighing with a sad smile on his face. It was then that a knock on the door caught his attention, an elf dropping off two trays of lunch for them. Bilbo got up from his writing desk to accept the food with a grateful nod. Examining one of the trays, he gathered a forkful of the different foods and unceremoniously fed it to Talion, who startled at the action, nearly falling off the edge of the bed where he was seated.

     “Mmph?” he asked around the forkful of food, taking the fork from Bilbo. After he finished chewing, he asked rather sheepishly, “I did it again, didn’t I?”

     “Yes, but I don’t blame you. If I were in your position, knowing what you know and being who you are… How are you, Talion?”

     Talion shrugged.

     “I… I could be better,” he admitted. “The Council is still fresh in my mind,” he added.

     Though it had been a little over a week since the Council of Elrond, it wasn’t far from the forefront of anyone’s mind. Bilbo hummed in acknowledgement.

     “So too is it in mine. I think it’s taken its toll on all of us, you more than most, it seems.” He brought the other tray over to Talion, who looked at the food quizzically before Bilbo told him, “Eat. How long has it been since your last meal?”

     Talion thought about it for a moment.

     “A few days?” he estimated.

     Bilbo huffed.

     “And I suppose you haven’t had any sleep in that time either?” Talion shook his head, and Bilbo tsked fondly. “Your body may no longer need such things, but I think they’re good for you. You brood less when you’re eating or sleeping.”

     Talion raised an amused eyebrow at him.

     “Brood?”

     “Yes, brood. Your mind, much like mine, never stops working. There is always something to dwell on, something to understand or unravel. Eat, take a nap, and I will wake you when it’s time for dinner.” 

     Talion had half a mind to ask Bilbo to instead restart the tale from his book he was working on before, but ultimately decided against it. The hobbit was always looking out for him in some way, and always with such sincerity and worry for his well being.

     “Of course,” he replied gratefully, digging into the food on his tray as Bilbo returned to his book, the scraping of a fork and the scratching of a quill filling the room.

XxX

     Ur-Edin reread Amug’s letter in frustration, crumpling the parchment and letting the chilling, bitter, snowy wind whisk it away. Another attack on Cirith Ungol’s stronghold. Gorgoroth had reported siege attempts as well, Nurn the only region untouched by battle as of late. Seregost had just fended off its first attack only a few hours ago. The Olog overlord shifted to be a little closer to the fire in the stronghold’s courtyard, looking at all the damage that would need to be repaired, and quickly. Large piles of rubble, crippled siege equipment, and the bodies of fallen orcs and creatures alike were scattered about. Trails of blood had frozen over, a blanket of white beginning to cover them up and settle over his surroundings, disturbed only by the footsteps of scouts and those not too injured to begin cleanup.

     “Fresh fort supplies won’t arrive for another few days. Should we use the materials in the store room?” asked one of his captains, barely suppressing a shiver as flurries of snow continued to fall, the moon struggling to give them just enough light to get around by as it hid behind thick, gray storm clouds.

     “Without delay,” Ur-Edin told him, watching the captain hurry off, grabbing a few off duty orcs to assist him as he went.

     Bruz had informed him not too long ago that Baranor had overheard plans of Saruman breeding an army, and it seemed the claims were true. He had lost more than a few good orcs today, and it was hard to replenish their numbers when there was no leader to rally around. The Gravewalker’s friends could only do and represent so much; they could not inspire loyalty and hope on the same levels as he did, no matter how hard they tried, and it was beginning to show as battles became more difficult to win.

     Ur-Edin nudged one of Saruman’s orcs’ bodies into the fire to feed it, growling lowly as a thought occurred to him. The new Uruks had come in unheard of numbers, though they lacked the training and experience that their own forces had. If Saruman had the ability to keep breeding new orcs, what was to say the first few attack forces hadn’t been some kind of test? Or perhaps it had been a simple greeting, a way to show that there was plenty more where that came from? Was the wizard sadistic enough to toy with them? What if the next wave of attacks came with better trained and armed forces now that his grunts had whittled down their numbers?

     He didn’t like where that train of thought was leading him.

     “Signs of camps, m’lord,” one of his scouts called to him, quickly clambering down one of the stronghold walls. “A few fires and tents set up just where we can see them.”

     “Send Ogthrak to take a closer look. Only a closer look. I want to know what we’re up against.” The assassin captain was the sharpest and deadliest orc they had, if a bit over enthusiastic about killing and torturing. He could make short work of many of the inexperienced orcs camping out, but Ur-Edin did not want to run the risk of losing him in a pointless battle. “Have him report directly to me when he returns.”

     “Of course.”

     He watched the scout take off further into the stronghold before a familiar face entered his vision, wrapped in thick furs against the harsh snowy weather.

     “Still in one piece, I see. Nasty bit of work, that.”

     Torvin pointed to the loosely wrapped wound in Ur-Edin’s chest. It wasn’t as deep or fatal as initially feared, but it would certainly slow down and bother him for some time. The Olog overlord grumbled under his breath at the dwarf’s greeting.

     “A flesh wound,” he replied.

     Ur-Edin turned his gaze back to the fire. The last few months had been difficult for everyone, but for Seregost especially. Supplies were already harder to obtain in the dangerous, (usually) orc infested, icy region without large scale attacks. If they didn’t do something soon, it wouldn’t be long before they began to lose ground, and possibly the fortress. Enter Torvin, who was a master craftsman with more than a few ideas on how to bolster their defenses.

     “I brought the schematics with me so you could look over everything before we start building. Maybe inside though? I think you’ve done enough freezing for one night.”

     With an answering grunt, the Olog gingerly got to his feet and led him inside the main hall of the fortress. A pile of schematics tumbled from Torvin’s hands, and as he rearranged and smoothed out the well used parchment, Ur-Edin could pick out the shapes of ballistae, of rigged crossbows and spears, spike pits, poison bombs. There were some things that looked so complex and ridiculous that he couldn’t help but give a skeptical frown. Torvin caught the expression with a rather excited grin.

     “While some of these inventions may look like the working of a madman—er, dwarf—I guarantee that they’ll be worth it. Don’t you worry!”

     Torvin’s bright demeanor was a welcome respite from the usual gloom and uneasiness of Seregost as of late, but little worried Ur-Edin more than the thought of letting his stronghold fall after promising Talion to hold Mordor until his return. Even if he was more than a little unsure of the newly proposed defense plan, if Talion trusted the dwarf, then he supposed he could too. He gave Torvin an assured nod, and the dwarf immediately launched into an animated explanation of the first schematic.

     Whatever Talion was doing with the One Ring, he’d better do it faster. Their survival might depend on it.

XxX

     “ …which is what has led us to begin sailing to Valinor,” Elrond finished.

     Talion sat speechlessly across from Elrond on the upper deck of the Last Homely House. He didn’t know why, but Elrond, as busy as he was, had no problem answering Talion’s questions or taking the time to fill him in on things. For most of the morning, after breakfast and a short walk outside, Elrond had told Talion of the many happenings throughout Middle-earth since Talion’s last days outside of Mordor. He told of relations between elves, dwarves, and men, as well as changes in leadership, significant losses, and major events that had affected each group. Talion had never really concerned himself with the world outside of Gondor too much before… everything, but to hear about the hardships and wonders of distant lands…

     “That… is a lot,” Talion replied as the information sunk in.

     Elrond smiled.

     “You did ask,” he told him.

     Talion smiled back.

     “That I did.”

     It was then that he frowned, Gandalf’s words coming to mind. Elrond didn’t miss the change in his expression.

     “What is it that troubles you?”

     “Gandalf,” he replied simply. “He said I wouldn’t have any problems obtaining information, that I could have all of my questions answered…” He let out a quiet laugh. “And yet I do not know what to ask first. I suppose…” As much as he disliked dwelling on the Council, there was one thing that refused to leave his mind. He pulled the New Ring into view with a sigh. “When I first laid eyes on the One Ring, the New Ring sprang to life. As I looked down upon it, I saw Sauron and Celebrimbor, locked in battle. I… I could feel the One Ring’s pull, but the New Ring fought against it, breaking its hold over me. What if there is a way to break Sauron’s influence over the Ring?” 

     “His influence… Similar to Celebrimbor’s influence over the New Ring?”

     “Yes, exactly! If we were to destroy, or even weaken, Sauron’s presence within the One Ring, would that then stop the Ring’s warping of the bearer’s mind, and break Sauron’s hold over the Nazgûl? Could it, perhaps, defeat Sauron once and for all without the need to travel to Mordor?”

     Elrond considered the thought, hoping he was understanding Talion correctly.

     “Assuming you had a way to reach the part of Sauron’s soul within the One Ring, would you be able to defeat him? And if you did, how would you know that his presence within the One Ring is completely gone? Is it even possible to banish his presence from the One Ring without destroying the Ring itself? I wish I had an answer for you, Talion, but you ask me something only Sauron himself might know.” 

     Talion sighed, but wasn’t surprised.

     “I suppose I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. The Fellowship has brought many concerns to my mind, and I’ve had nothing but plenty of time to think about them. I mostly worry for Frodo and Boromir.”

     “Because of the One Ring,” Elrond finished.

     “Yes. If there is any way to protect them from the Ring’s influence, I would see it done.”

     Talion watched the small changes in Elrond’s expression as he considered the situation, the slight deepening in the furrow of his brow, the spark in his eye as an idea came to him. Though he had not known the elf lord long, Talion would miss his guidance once the Fellowship left Rivendell.

     “Perhaps Celebrimbor would know. He crafted the Rings of Power, and though the One Ring was not his creation, I’m sure his insight would be much more valuable than mine.” Talion just resisted the urge to put his face in his hands. Why didn’t he realize that sooner? Elrond must have known what he was thinking, catching Talion’s attention with a short laugh. “You have had much on your mind as of late, Talion.”

     Talion shook his head.

     “Still… I should have…” He was about to take his leave, preparing to stand when Gandalf’s words returned to his mind once more. He blushed, and was met with a curious raised eyebrow from Elrond. “There is one more thing I’d like to ask you,” he told him, hoping he wouldn’t die of embarrassment as he tried to get the question out. 

     Elrond simply gave him a sad smile as he answered it.

XxX

     For the next few weeks, Talion kept himself busy. He’d gotten into the habit of always having something to do, whether that be training, spending time with other members of the Fellowship, or simply wandering around Rivendell. Anything to take his mind off of the journey that loomed ahead was a good thing. Though he had done a decent job of not running into the more distrusting members of the Fellowship for a time, he knew there were bound to be moments when that couldn’t be helped. 

     Any encounter with Gimli tended to include glares and half murmured insults and threats in Khuzdul. The dwarves in general seemed to despise his presence, but Gimli was the most vocal of the group on the matter.

     “I don’t care who trusts him. The only thing I trust is that my axe will do its job when the time comes,” Talion overheard one evening as he entered the Hall of Fire.

     One of Gimli’s companions nudged him, pointing in Talion’s direction with a concerned expression. Gimli merely sneered, and Talion met his glare with a look of indifference, taking a seat next to Eltariel, who followed Talion’s gaze with a frown. Words would not change the dwarf’s opinion, he knew. Only actions—loud, obvious, and meaningful actions—would. With no battles to fight or pressing issues he could resolve, Talion resigned himself to saving that for the journey ahead.

     While Legolas didn’t fully trust Talion, he was civil towards him. The two had held conversations at meals, and had even done some training together. Talion appreciated the fact that Legolas had not been as quick to judge as the others had, and he told the elf as much after a particularly grueling sparring session.

     Legolas replied, “I do not find it right to condemn someone based on appearance alone. If those that I would entrust my life to consider you an ally, then so do I. And I hope, in time, that I won’t have to change my mind.”

     The times he and Boromir had found themselves in the same room had been… strange to say the least. Sometimes, there were burning glances towards Isildur’s Ring, and Talion could see the gears turning in his head; what about he had no idea. At others… there were contemplative, almost awed looks that made Talion re-evaluate what Boromir might think of him. It was during one evening, in the depths of Elrond’s library—a vast yet cozy two story room where bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, armchairs and tables filled the gaps between them, and tomes and scrolls from every age were stacked as far as the eye could see—that the two finally spoke again.

     “You were right.”

     Talion whirled around at Boromir’s voice, eyes settling on the man seated in a corner of the room after a few moments.

     “About?”

     “The Ring. The way it claws at your mind and whispers dark promises and empty futures of fantasy, the way it consumes you… Have I finally gone mad?” He tipped his head back to stare forlornly at the ceiling, feeling as if he were choking on shame. “I lay awake at night, dreaming of a day when I stand in front of the men of Gondor again, the One Ring upon my finger, a sea of dead orcs stretching from the Pelennor Fields to the Black Gate.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I see my brother, gazing at me proudly as I lead our people to victory, as the Great Eye is snuffed out and the sun rises over the blooming White Tree of Gondor at the heart of Minas Tirith.”

     Talion gently set the book in his hands down on the nearest shelf, moving across the room to take the chair opposite of Boromir. The scraping of furniture drew Boromir back to the present, and he looked at Talion with tortured eyes.

     “Seek for the Sword that was broken:

     In Imladris it dwells;

     There shall be counsels taken

     Stronger than Morgul-spells.

     There shall be shown a token

     That Doom is near at hand,

     For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

     And the Halfling forth shall stand.

     Those words came to my brother and I in a dream. Our father interpreted them to mean to travel to Rivendell, the home of Lord Elrond, and seek out Isildur’s Bane, that which could end the doom of the world that approaches from the east. Bring me back this mighty gift , he had said.” Boromir shook his head. “The hunger in his eyes, the way he would listen to no one’s reason but his own… I finally understand why Faramir pleaded that I not go to the council meeting.”

     “The One Ring did what most Rings of Power do best: it took your noble and good intentions and manipulated them to serve Sauron’s will.” He sighed. “I’ve faced the call of my own Ring many times.”

     “And yet you remain yourself. Still you fight against it.” He clenched his fist, the spine of the book he had been reading creaking under the pressure. “How? How do you keep the voices and visions at bay? How do you block out their lies and temptations?”

     Talion smiled sadly at him.

     “I don’t. The whispers, the dreams, the emotions: I have to endure them every time they appear. Sometimes they overwhelm my senses, make me forget myself and what’s going on around me… And then I hear my wife humming softly as she works. I see my son training hard to be a soldier of Gondor, asking any and every question that he can in his excitement to learn. I see the faces of the friends I made despite my desire for vengeance and death. I…” Talion blinked away a tear. “I feel my lover’s hand in mine, pulling me out of the darkness in my mind, my heart, my soul.” He took a deep breath. “The light of the people I love reminds me that no Ring of Power or false promise can overtake me so long as I remember who and what I’m fighting for.”

     Boromir matched Talion’s sad smile with one of his own.

     “And what if it isn’t enough? What if I’m still not strong enough to resist?”

     Talion laid a hand over his with a soft yet sure look in his eyes.

     “It is, and you are.”

     The rift that the council meeting had created between the two slowly disappeared after that night. 

     Things between Talion and Aragorn were not strained, but not quite normal either. After the revelation by Legolas at the Council, it finally dawned on Talion why Aragorn had acted so strangely around Isildur’s Ring. He hadn’t had much of a chance to speak with him before he left with Elladan and Elrohir as part of their scouting party, their brief goodbye a bit awkward. That day, the two had been enjoying one of the warmer afternoons of the quickly chilling season, back where their late night conversation had taken place. Aragorn had gone there upon his return a few hours prior, and nodded to Talion in greeting. They were sitting on opposite sides of a tall, thick tree, facing away from the city and towards the forest and waterfalls.

     “I want to apologize, Talion.” Aragorn told him.

     It was the first time either of them had spoken to the other all afternoon.

     “What for?”

     He heard shuffling in the grass, turning to see Aragorn now sat facing him, an almost guilty expression on his face.

     “Ever since the Council, things have felt… different between us, and I know I am the cause.”

     Talion thought about his next words carefully.

     “Knowing your true name has not changed how I view you, Aragorn, but…”

     “ …But?”

     “You were tempted that day, weren’t you?” he finally asked, recalling when he and Eltariel escorted the company to Rivendell. “That’s why you recoiled from my Ring. It called to you.”

     Aragorn averted his gaze.

     “Yes,” he admitted. A few moments passed before Talion, with a risky idea in mind, raised the hand that wore Isildur’s Ring and held it out to Aragorn, who looked at it with a swirling mix of too many emotions to name. “What are you doing?”

     “What if I said I was offering you Isildur’s Ring, right here, right now? Are you going to take it?”

     Aragorn didn’t realize he had grasped Talion’s hand in his until he was examining the Ring up close. The smooth metal showed his distorted reflection, its fiery orange gemstone glowing and pulsing in greeting. Whispers of a foreign yet familiar voice filled his ears.

      It is your birthright to wear this Ring. With it, nothing will stand in the way of you or the Fellowship. All would come to love and fear you.

     Flashes of Isildur, the Ring gleaming brightly on his hand, filled his mind. A growing, prosperous kingdom and battles won despite overwhelming odds followed before the visions in his mind changed to that of him as King of Gondor. The shards of Narsil had been reforged into a truly magnificent sword held firmly in his hands. The Ring sat comfortably on his finger, a symbol of power and pride as he stood strongly and surely in front of his people.

     Aragorn felt a flare of ravenous desire, of anger, even, that the Ring wasn’t in his possession, that it had been stolen from him. His fingers held it tightly. It would be so easy to wrench it from Talion’s hand and slide it onto his own. He could feel the power and dark magic pulsing through it, encouraging him, embracing him.

     Talion shivered at the shift in the Ring’s energy, eyes fixed on Aragorn and his enchanted, conflicted expression.

     “No,” Aragorn answered confidently, firmly pushing Talion’s hand away before meeting his gaze again. Despite still reeling from the empty promises and false dreams, he knew he neither wanted nor needed anything the Ring had to offer. Talion smiled in knowing satisfaction. “Why did you do that?”

     “Because I didn’t want you to leave here with the thought of, ‘What if I tried to take it?’ in the back of your mind. I knew you wouldn’t. You are not Isildur. You need not fear succumbing as he did.”

     “I…” He couldn’t deny the weight lifted from his shoulders after he had said no. “I suppose that’s one way to accomplish that. You have very unorthodox methods, my friend, but I am glad. You approach things in ways none of us could ever think of.”

     “I’ve… had to get creative at times,” Talion replied with a small smile that Aragorn couldn’t help but return.

     “I do not doubt that.” It was then that a comfortable silence fell between the two again, and they resumed their original positions against opposite sides of the tree, collecting their thoughts. It wouldn’t be until the sun showed signs of setting that Aragorn broke the silence again. “What made you change back this time?” he asked suddenly. When he didn’t get a response, he explained, “Your features were once again free from darkness after the Council. I never got a chance to ask.”

     Talion didn’t answer immediately, replaying the event from weeks prior.

     “Eltariel,” he responded. “She… She’s not the person I thought she was.”

     Talion didn’t need to see Aragorn’s face to know his thoughts on her. He wasn’t sure what Aragorn had seen in Eltariel’s eyes upon their first meeting, but it had made him wary of her.

     “And this is a good thing?” he asked slowly, not quite following.

     “She showed me that there is more to her than what she lets others see. She has faith in me, in moments when I fail to have any in myself.”

     “I… do not wish to speak ill of your friend, Talion, but I don’t trust her.”

     Friend. If anyone had told him, back in Mordor, that he and Eltariel would one day see each other as friends instead of reluctant comrades in arms, he would have laughed until his vocal chords ceased to function.

     “I don’t blame you. She isn’t the easiest person to get along with, and there have been times when she has seemed to me more of an enemy than an ally—”

     “It’s not that,” Aragorn told him, trying to figure out how to voice his thoughts. “She hides her true self behind an image of what others have wanted her to be, to appear unbreakable, to hide what she sees as weaknesses. Eltariel has pretended to be someone she is not for so long that she has forgotten who she is. I am glad that her armor has cracked around you, but I do not trust her because she doesn’t even trust herself.”

     Talion took a few moments to gather his thoughts and respond.

     “I know. But she is more self-aware than you give her credit for. When I rescued her from Barad-dûr, she tried everything in her power to hide how broken she was, masking how she truly felt with anger and humor. She has acknowledged this, and every day she makes an effort to break old habits, to find herself again.” He smiled warmly. “Perhaps, in time, you’ll see it as well.”

     Aragorn observed the sincerity and conviction in Talion’s voice, visibly relaxing.

     “Perhaps. I have not spent any time with her since the council meeting. I will keep what you’ve said in mind, my friend.”

XxX

     “I’ve trained my whole life for this, to be worthy of this. Whatever the task may be, I promise to accomplish it and come home.”

     Eltariel’s words to a concerned Celeborn upon deciding to accept the offer to become the Blade of Galadriel.

     “In times of great need, like now, I call upon only the greatest of warriors to do what many deem impossible. They are my Blades. This honor does not come without sacrifice, however. Those who come into my service must dedicate their lives to the tasks they are given until they are completed. You must leave behind the life you knew, the people you have come to care for, the place you call home. Anything less will hinder your efforts, distract you at the most crucial of moments. Though the price is heavy, it is paid to ensure the survival of our world.”

     Galadriel, explaining the cost of becoming her Blade.

     “I vow to leave behind all that I have and all that I am. I vow to put aside all others and all personal desires. I vow to face any and all challenges that come with courage and honor. I vow to uphold these conditions until the end of my assignment or my death in its pursuit.”

     The vows Eltariel had taken before her assignment of hunting the Nazgul was given to her.

     “Today, you are reborn… May this light a path through the darkness of Mordor… Rise, Blade of Galadriel. You know what must be done.”

     Words Galadriel had spoken to her as she secured the Light of Galadriel on Eltariel’s left arm, starting her down a treacherous and uncertain path.

     “It has been quite some time since I’ve seen you this troubled, mellon nin.” Eltariel sighed, setting down the bow Legolas had let her borrow as they practiced archery near the stables that morning. There were several well used targets set up a safe distance from the mounts being taken care of. The shuffling of horse shoes, the quiet bustle of people, and a chilly breeze accompanied the still rising sun. “What weighs on you so?”

     The Fellowship was leaving in a few days to begin their journey to Mordor. The last several weeks of rest had been good for everyone, but tension and uneasiness remained.

     “My heart is lighter than it has been in centuries. And yet…”

     The arrow in her hands snapped from the pressure of her clenched fists, and she hissed, dropping the splintered wood onto the ground. Her caragor near the stables snuffled awake at the sound, quickly snapping to its feet, but returned to its nap after Eltariel waved it off. Legolas frowned.

     “And yet?”

     “Do you ever wonder how different things could have been if you had stayed in Mirkwood?”

     His expression softened as he hummed in understanding.

     “You wonder if your life would have been better if you hadn’t become the Blade of Galadriel.”

     She nodded, observing the Light of Galadriel thoughtfully.

     “I had to become detached, cold, unflinching, when I was chosen. Anything else when facing the most deadly and dangerous of enemies meant certain death.” She gazed at the twinkle of light the gauntlet emitted as she flexed her hand. “My assignment was to hunt the Nazgûl, to delay Sauron’s rise to power and foil his servants’ plans, to frustrate and distract. The Light of Galadriel cannot be relinquished until one’s assignment is done.” She shook her head. “I did not think about what it would cost me. I became a tool, a weapon of destruction, and soon that’s all I considered myself. Tools and weapons don’t need friends or attachments. I had a purpose to fulfill and nothing more.”

     “You are not just a tool, Eltariel. You are a person, burdened by a task no one should have to undertake. You did what you had to to survive.”

     “But I want to do more than just survive, Legolas! I want to look at things as an opportunity for mischief and laughter above all else. I want to enjoy the warmth of friendship and the ease of simply existing. I want to wake up and believe in my heart that there is more to life than fighting an enemy I cannot kill.” She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “But I do not know if I remember how.”

     Legolas laughed softly, a small smile on his lips, and Eltariel looked to him in confusion.

     “Do not forget that I knew you well before your time as a Blade. That you speak your mind and have let yourself be seen by me the way that you have is proof enough that you do remember. You do not hide your heart now as you once did. You will not be the same as you were before, not after all of the horrors that you’ve endured, but you will find that part of yourself again by simply being and doing. It will begin to come back to you naturally once you let go of the fears that hold you back.”

     Her fears. Fear of failure, of being the cause of the loss of those she holds dear, of being truly seen and rejected before she could even say a word, of being reminded again and again that she always was and will always be nothing…

     “I cannot simply vanquish them with a wave of my hand,” she told him softly. “They run much deeper than that.”

     “You don’t need to. Simply trust that you will do what needs to be done when the time comes, and that your efforts to open up will not go unnoticed or unappreciated, even if some in our company are a bit… disagreeable.”

     She gave a soft huff.

     A bow of light materialized in her hands, and as she nocked a glowing arrow and aimed at a target, she told him, “That is one way to describe them, I suppose. Still… I appreciate your ears and your words, caun nin.”

     Eltariel barely restrained a smirk as her arrow singed a hole straight through the middle of the nearest target, Legolas narrowing his eyes at her, though he too was holding back a smile.

     “As I said, you remember.”

XxX

     Two months had passed since the Council of Elrond had taken place, and it was finally time for the Fellowship to depart from Rivendell. Many had gathered to see them off, some from the doors of their homes, and others near the gates of the city. It was easy to feel the sadness and uncertainty in the air, accompanied by somber and troubled expressions. The Fellowship stood together just in front of the gates and across from Elrond, who began to address the crowd.

     “The Ring-bearer is setting out on a quest to Mount Doom. And you who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell, and hold to your purpose… May the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you.”

     He gestured respectfully towards the group, bowing his head and briefly extending the arm that held a hand over his heart. Legolas, Aragorn, Eltariel, and Talion returned the gesture, a confused Boromir and Gimli looking between them before Gandalf spoke.

     “The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer,” he told Frodo, who took one more, perhaps his last, look at Rivendell before turning and making his way towards the gate.

     Talion couldn’t help but do the same as the rest of the Fellowship went to follow, meeting Elrond’s concerned, yet hopeful gaze with a nod. He watched the interaction between Arwen and Aragorn, feeling his heart ache at their separation. He could only pull his gaze away when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning to see Eltariel waiting for him, expression conflicted yet understanding. They followed Aragorn out of the city, catching up to the rest of the Fellowship, each step bringing them closer to both their goal and certain peril.

Translations

(S): caun nin → my prince

Chapter Text

The Mines of Moria

     For many days, the Fellowship traveled along the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Very few words were spoken for some time, apart from the occasional comment from Pippin or quiet musings from Gandalf, Aragorn, or Legolas. Some of the tension from Rivendell remained, worry, unease, and a hint of distrust palpable in the air. Despite this, Talion couldn’t help but admire the view around him one early afternoon. Rolling green hills and snow capped mountains that cut through the swirling clouds above them were a beautiful and peaceful sight to behold. He made his thoughts known aloud, the first words he’d spoken to the group as a whole since their departure from Rivendell. Of all the sights he’d seen in recent memory, Nurn was probably the most beautiful (of course), but he’d grown accustomed to it after a few decades.

     “Perhaps we should admire them for a bit longer, then,” Aragorn replied. “It seems like as good a time as any to rest.”

     Most of the rest of the Fellowship responded positively. Talion’s efforts to alleviate everyone’s worries after the Council of Elrond had been almost a complete success, but other points of tension remained. Though Gimli’s whispered threats of bodily harm to Talion had stopped some time ago, he still directed glares his way whenever their gazes would meet, and he had more than a few colorful things to say about Legolas. Aragorn, Boromir, and Eltariel still didn’t see eye to eye on many things, and while Boromir appreciated the opportunity to rest, he argued that they would be wasting daylight if they stopped now.

     Pippin, however, through lucky timing or some other strange, mystical power that Talion didn’t know he had, managed to completely change everyone’s sour mood with a single question. As Sam started a fire to prepare lunch, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli surveying their surroundings from the rocky cliff they’d set up camp on, Pippin caught Aragorn and Boromir’s attention.

     “I know there’ll be Black Riders and creatures on our way to Mordor, so will you teach me how to fight?” The question caught both men and a bewildered Merry off guard. Pippin caught Merry’s expression, replying, “Someone has to defend you when we’re surrounded by the enemy.”

     “Someone’ll have to defend me?” Merry questioned incredulously, eyebrow raised and eyes glimmering at the challenge. “Well if you’re learning to fight, then so am I! We’ll see who needs defending then, won’t we?”

     Boromir looked to Aragorn in excitement. As short-tempered as he’d been for a portion of the beginning of their journey, the hobbits had a way of dispelling the metaphorical storm cloud that often hung over his head. He absolutely adored them, and probably couldn’t say no to anything they asked if he tried.

     “What do you think, Aragorn? Shall we train two brave warriors for the challenges ahead?” he asked with a genuine smile that instantly brightened the atmosphere.

     Aragorn, smiling as well, looked between the three with a fond shake of his head.

     “I don’t see why not. Where shall we start?”

     Talion sat a little ways away, far enough to not be intrusive, but close enough to see and hear most of what was going on. Eltariel joined him, watching in amusement as Merry and Pippin attempted to imitate Boromir and Aragorn, who were showing them the proper stances for fighting. The grass around them was brittle and spiky, the ground underneath solid and unyielding; a most uncomfortable surface to sleep on, they would all agree. A chilly breeze caused Gimli to pull his cloak a bit tighter around himself as he sharpened his axe a few feet away, also taking in the sight. 

     “They could still be in Rivendell or back in the Shire, yet they chose to continue traveling. And now this.”

     She gestured to the four as Pippin took the first swing of his borrowed dagger, stumbling forward from the force he’d put into it and drawing laughs out of everyone watching. 

     “I know,” Talion told her sadly as his laughter died down, “but they made their choice. They would not leave Frodo to face this journey alone.”

     Eltariel didn’t reply. Talion looked to her after a while to find her lost in thought, her gaze distant and disheartened. He tried not to wonder what was going through her mind that would put her in such a state.

     Several days went by much the same way, with the Fellowship stopping and meals and training sessions proceeding. On this particular day, Merry and Pippin took turns against Boromir doing basic combos and strikes, with Aragorn observing and commenting as they went. They had made splendid progress in the short time, and Eltariel and Legolas had discussed teaching the two other skills, like proper scouting, perhaps, or archery (if all involved were feeling especially daring). As Merry and Pippin tackled Boromir, and then Aragorn, to the ground with a bit of clever teamwork, the four collapsed into a pile with a fit of laughter. The joyful mood soon vanished, however, as Legolas rushed to the edge of the grassy cliff they were camped out on, squinting into the distance. This caught everyone’s attention, Eltariel making her way to his side not long after. A dark mass had appeared in the skies.

     “What is that?” Sam asked.

     Gimli thought nothing of it, but quickly changed his tune as it made its way towards them.

     “Its moving fast, against the wind,” Boromir noted, the smile from earlier falling from his face as concern set in.

     Talion watched Eltariel’s eyes widen as she realized what they were seeing.

     “Spies of the enemy!” she shouted to the group.

     “Hide! Take cover!” Aragorn instructed.

     They all rushed behind the large rock formations next to the camp, extinguishing the fire and snatching belongings as they dove out of sight. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as a swarm of crebain—large black shrieking crows fueled by darkness—flew over the area, leaving as quickly as they came. When they were barely visible, everyone got to their feet, a bit shaken.

     “Spies of Saruman,” Gandalf told them. “The passage South is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.”

     They all looked to the high mountain peak behind them, no doubt bitterly cold and snowy.

     “For how long?” Talion asked, looking to the hobbits in concern.

     While he knew that Eltariel, Legolas, and he himself wouldn’t feel much of the temperature’s effects, he didn’t like the idea of the hobbits, or anyone else, freezing to death.

     “It is hard to say. Should the snow hold until we have passed, not long at all,” Gandalf replied, though he didn’t sound as confident as he probably wanted to.

     Talion had a feeling the journey wouldn’t go too well.

XxX

     The trek to the Pass was long and arduous.

     The vast white blanket of snow around them met soft blue skies and slowly swirling clouds that seemed almost within reach; although it was a quiet and serene scene, the thinning air and steadily dropping temperatures were not kind to the Fellowship. Talion knew Aragorn, Gandalf, and Boromir were cold, but they didn't show it. Gimli, Legolas, and Eltariel didn't feel most of the cold, and he himself couldn't feel much of anything. The hobbits, however, were shivering. Frodo, at one point, found himself tumbling down the slope they were currently climbing, caught by a concerned Aragorn before he could go too far, now covered in snow. Everyone stopped in concern.

     "Are you alright?" Talion asked him, checking him over.

     Frodo nodded, but his tired expression quickly morphed into one of panic as he looked up. Talion and Aragorn followed his gaze, eyes landing on Boromir holding the chain that held the One Ring, which glimmered in the sunlight. Talion felt the New Ring burn, sucking in a harsh breath as a familiar, chilling voice spoke.

      You know he cannot resist its call. He will betray you and everyone foolish enough to trust him.

     Suddenly, Talion saw Sauron holding Celebrimbor in a chokehold, a dagger pointed at his throat. Celebrimbor’s vambrace blocked the blade as he coughed and sputtered, scowling at the accusations. Swirls of muffled and unclear visions stretched all around them, air filled with a twisted sense of wrong and hatred .

      You underestimate his strength. You will not claim him, today or any other day.

     A spectral dagger pierced Sauron’s side, and he released his grip with a howl of pain. Celebrimbor put space between them to catch his breath, drawing his sword with a snarl as Sauron regained his bearings.

     With a blink, Talion’s vision returned to normal, his brief pause unnoticed by the group. He squeezed Frodo's shoulder a bit too tightly as he and Aragorn helped him to his feet.

     "Boromir," Aragorn called, but Boromir was entranced; he only had eyes only for the One Ring.

     The wind seemed to blow harsher then, the skies just a touch darker.

     “ ‘Tis a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt… for so small a thing…” His other hand came up to examine the Ring closer. “Such a little thing…” Suddenly, he violently shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the Ring with great effort, shuddering. He approached Talion, Frodo, and Aragorn, holding out the chain a bit reluctantly, gaze trained on his feet. “I believe this is yours, little one,” he whispered.

     Frodo snatched the Ring back with urgency, quickly securing it back around his neck and out of sight. Talion let out a barely audible sigh of relief, and the Fellowship continued moving. He didn’t miss, however, Aragorn’s hand slowly lowering from his sword handle after the exchange.

     The next day was when things well and truly took a turn for the worse. Icy gusts whipped heaps of snow upon them, so much so that Boromir and Gandalf had to make a path for the rest of the Fellowship to walk through as they scaled the side of the mountain. Aragorn and Talion carried the hobbits, not wanting to risk them being buried in snow banks taller than they were. Legolas and Eltariel hopped upon the non tunneled snow ahead, twin worried expressions on their faces. 

     “There is a fell voice in the air,” Legolas called back to them, a sinister incantation echoing through the Pass.

     “It’s Saruman!” Gandalf shouted as a loud BOOM! thundered overhead, sending huge chunks of rocks and ice cascading dangerously close to them.

     “He’s trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must head back!” Aragorn shouted in alarm.

     “No!” Gandalf shouted back.

     Talion looked to him in shock. Did he want them to risk dying here when there were other, safer paths they could take? It was then that Gandalf shouted back at Saruman in an ancient language that Talion didn’t quite understand. Another BOOM! sounded, this time bringing several feet of snow and ice crashing down on top of everyone. Saruman’s voice went silent then, only the howling of the wind audible. The side of the mountain was motionless for several seconds before, one by one, members of the Fellowship dug themselves out of the snow. Talion looked for Eltariel, spotting her a few feet away, brushing snow out from under her hood. His gaze then swept the area, and he was relieved to see everyone looking mostly unharmed. He heard Boromir suggest they head for the Gap of Rohan before Aragorn pointed out that they would be traveling too close to Isengard. Gimli suggested Moria, to which Gandalf froze, a far off look in his eyes. What did he know that they didn’t?

     “Gandalf?” Talion asked over the wind, startling him from his trance.

     Gandalf looked to him and then to Frodo.

     “Let the Ring-bearer decide.”

     All eyes then fell on Frodo, who was terrified to be tasked with making such a decision. He looked to Sam, then to the other hobbits, who were just as lost and uncertain as he was.

     “We cannot stay here! This will be the death of the hobbits!” Boromir shouted. 

     Frodo took a few shaky, uneven breaths before replying, “We will go through the Mines.”

     Gandalf met his terrified expression with one of resignation.

     “So be it. Let us turn back!”

XxX

     Talion couldn’t help the feeling of warmth mixed with longing and a strange unease that bubbled in his chest the closer the Fellowship got to Moria. After the disastrous journey to the Caradhras Pass, he hoped travel would be less eventful this time.

     He watched Gandalf pull a fearful and tired looking Frodo to the side, whispering too low to hear from where he was, before Gimli uttered, awestruck, “The Walls of Moria.”

     Gnarled tree roots and overgrown vegetation crossed the winding stone path alongside the base of the Misty Mountains that they walked. The towering rock wall stretched far in both directions, it and the starry night sky reflected in a large, deep pool of water. While everyone else seemed to be searching for an entrance, Talion simply ran his fingers reverently over the aged stone, ancient whispers echoing in the air, a heartbroken look in his eyes that drew occasional confused stares from their companions. Eltariel watched him sadly, knowing what was on his mind.

     “Dwarf doors are invisible when closed,” Gimli told the group.

     “Their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten,” Gandalf remarked.

     “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Leglas asked with a frown, much to Gimli’s annoyance.

     Before a dispute could start between the two, Talion saw Gandalf trace along a smooth area of stone framed by a pair of tall, twisted trees. The parting of clouds revealed a beautiful full moon, and it lit up the doors with a soft, white-blue glow. Many of the Fellowship stared in wonder at the elegant writings while Talion and Eltariel made their way to Gandalf’s side. Without knowing what possessed him to do so, Talion read the door’s inscription, voice echoing throughout the area as his fingers gently traced the glowing ithildin.

      “Ennyn Durin Aran Moria. Pedo mellon a minno. Im Narvi hain echant. Celebrimbor o Eregion teithant i thiw hin.”

     Many in the Fellowship eyed Talion with surprise at his reading. Gandalf, seemingly unphased, translated.

     “The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.”

     “I, Narvi, made them,” Eltariel continued.

     “Celebrimbor of Eregion drew these signs,” Talion finished softly, voice shaking slightly at the end.

     Aragorn heard the tremble and caught his eye in concern, but Talion shook his head dismissively.

     “What do you suppose that means?” a confused Pippin asked.

     “Well, it’s quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open,” Gandalf explained rather quickly, perhaps a bit excitedly, as he turned towards the doors again, shouting confidently in Sindarin.

     The Fellowship held their breath in anticipation, deflating slightly when nothing happened after a few moments. Several more times Gandalf tried different phrases, each one a failure. The Fellowship all looked at one another, some in worry and others in exasperation.

     “Nothing’s happening,” Pippin commented after a few minutes, looking to Legolas.

     The elf met his gaze before looking to Gandalf, who was pushing and shoving at the door while frustratedly murmuring under his breath. 

     “So you have no idea how to open them.” Boromir crossed his arms with a huff. “Wonderful.”

     “Give him time,” Eltariel told him with a frown. “I don’t see you trying.”

     “I could say the same to you,” Boromir replied coldly.

     “Boromir. Eltariel,” Aragorn interrupted, sensing a fight brewing. “Perhaps now isn’t the best time.” They looked to him in embarrassment, as if scolded by a parent, before glaring at each other one last time and putting distance between themselves. Boromir rejoined the rest of the group while Eltariel made her way over to Gandalf, offering her help. Aragorn watched them go before making his way over to a melancholy Talion, who was lost in thought as he leaned against the wall a short distance away from the Doors. “It must be difficult, being here without him.”

     Talion sighed, but nodded.

     “It is. I know he would love to see this place again. And I know…” His eyes went wide as an idea occurred to him. “He knows how to open them.”

     He reached for the New Ring, which glowed to match the same shade of blue as the Doors of Moria, closing his eyes and concentrating. He hoped what he was trying worked. Celebrimbor, he thought with all his might. 

     After a few moments, Talion slowly felt his consciousness slip away, body going slack. His vision went dark as his eyes fell shut, and when next he opened them he found himself in the same yet slightly different place. The path to the Doors of Moria was clear, and where before there were distorted trees and plants were healthy saplings and neat greenery all around. As he pushed himself away from the stone wall to admire his surroundings under the moonlight, he heard quiet footsteps behind him.

     “There was a time when Moria and Eregion were allies, when trade and visitation were commonplace between us. Elves and Dwarves lived peacefully alongside each other, once. It is a shame that has changed.”

     Talion turned around, meeting Celebrimbor’s wistful gaze. 

     “Did you visit Moria often?” he asked, walking over to Celebrimbor’s side and gently taking his hand.

     “Yes. A great craftsman, Narvi, and I were good friends,” he replied. A familiar bow materialized in his free hand. “He is the one who crafted Azkar as a gift, a sign of our friendship.” Azkar disappearing from sight, they both walked up to the Doors and stopped just short of them. “It was through our collaboration that these Doors were built, and still stand as they are today.” He traced the glowing ithildin and recited, “ Ennyn Durin Aran Moria. Pedo mellon a minno.” 

     “ ‘Speak, friend, and enter,’ the second phrase reads. Gandalf cannot make sense of it.”

     Celebrimbor huffed in exasperation.

     “Gandalf the Grey is wiser than most, but there are some things that do not require a wealth of wisdom to solve. Pedo mellon a minno. Speak “friend” and enter. It is a very straightforward statement.”

     Talion considered his lover’s words, confusion giving way to understanding after a few moments.

     “Speak friend… Friend… The word for friend?”

     Celebrimbor smiled, and nodded.

     “A simple and straightforward statement, and yet even the greatest minds can still be baffled by it.” He dropped his hand from the Doors, looking to Talion in concern. “Moria is not the civilization it once was. It will have fallen into ruin, and there is no way of knowing what now dwells within its halls. You and the Fellowship must travel with caution.”

     “I know. We have barely avoided disaster since we set out from Rivendell, and… something tells me that there is a great danger near.”

     “Then you must be prepared for anything.” Before Talion could respond, he heard a faint voice, what he thought was someone calling his name. Celebrimbor sighed. “You are needed in the waking world.” 

     Talion squeezed his hand, refusing to let it go.

     “Must our time together always be so short?” he demanded to know, not willing to part with him just yet.

     “Aquetuvan tye, illumë,” Celebrimbor told him, equally as unwilling to let Talion return. “Never doubt that.”

     As his vision faded once more, he felt a kiss being pressed into his hair, and when he awoke he found Eltariel shaking him awake.

     “Something is amiss,” she told him as he stood, a bit disoriented. “There is a creature that lurks near.”

     Talion fixed her with a puzzled expression before a splashing sound drew his gaze to Pippin, who was throwing stones into the water. He watched Aragorn stop him with haste, he and Boromir looking at the now rippling water in concern. Briefly entering the wraith world, Talion saw a large form underwater, slowly making its way to the surface.

     Vision returning to normal, he told Eltariel, “Something has awakened.” 

     “Get away from the water!” she shouted to the rest of the Fellowship, shining the Light of Galadriel over the area.

     Dark tentacles moved almost unseen below dark waves. Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords, Legolas his bow, and Gimli his axe, pushing the hobbits behind them as they backed slowly towards the Doors. Talion and Eltariel joined them, Talion turning to a defeated looking Gandalf.

     “The Doors are not asking for anything elaborate. It asks exactly what it says. Speak “friend” and enter. It does not address us as friend. It asks for the word friend,” he explained. 

     Gandalf suddenly stood, realization lighting up his features, and the two of them uttered at the same time, “Mellon.”

     The Doors of Durin swung open with a scraping of stone, and Gandalf led the way forward, Gimli following ecstatically. As soon as he stepped foot inside, the uneasiness in Talion’s chest multiplied tenfold, and he gasped as it momentarily overwhelmed him. What remaining magic he could sense nearby was drowning in pain and fear, echoes of despair and the impression of run! halting him in his tracks.

     “What is it?” Eltariel whispered.

     Boromir glanced over his shoulder with matching concern.

     “Something isn’t right here. It’s too quiet. There is an air of suffering and death, and…”

     He couldn’t quite put into words the familiar feeling he was getting, but he sensed a great evil lurking deep within Moria. Gimli, oblivious to Talion’s worries, chattered excitedly.

     “Soon, master elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves. Roaring fires, malt beer, and ripe meat off the bone! This, my friends, is the home of my cousin Balin, and they call it a mine. A mine!”

     Legolas looked to him in bewilderment, and it was at this point that Gandalf lit his staff, illuminating a truly horrific scene that froze the Fellowship in their tracks. Rotted, cobweb infested corpses and broken skeletons littered the dingy stone floor, splatters of long dried blood and broken weapons leading further into Moria, the air thick with the smell of dust and decay.

     “This isn’t a mine. It’s a tomb,” Boromir stated, horrified.

     The hobbits took a few steps back as they spotted the bones at their feet, more than a little startled. Gimli cast his gaze around him, despair flooding his features as he dropped to his knees next to a fallen kinsman, letting out a heart wrenching wail that echoed ominously throughout the hall. Legolas yanked an arrow out of a corpse, scowling as he recognized the handiwork.

     “Goblins,” he told the group, prompting them to all scan the room for any potential enemies.

     “We should never have come here,” Boromir said, taking a few steps back the way they had come.

     Before anyone could comment or protest, Frodo let out a cry of alarm as a tentacle swept him off his feet and began dragging him none too gently back outside. Merry and Pippin immediately grabbed hold of him, Sam hacking away at the tentacle with angry shouts.

     “Strider!” he yelled as the rest of the Fellowship followed the sounds of the struggle.

     As Sam finally cut Frodo free, the monster reared its head with an ear-splitting shriek, grabbing for Frodo again with all of its tentacles. Aragorn, Eltariel, and Boromir slashed at any nearby, Legolas shooting at the farther ones, the hobbits trying to protect Frodo. They were knocked down with great force, and Frodo was snatched up. Before he could be taken far, Talion shadow-struck the tentacle holding him, Urfael slicing through it cleanly and efficiently. He landed on his feet as Boromir caught Frodo.

     “Into the mines!” Gandalf shouted, and the Fellowship quickly followed the order, fending off any final attacks as the creature lashed out at the Doors of Durin, crumbling the stone and caving in the entrance.

     Darkness swallowed them without the moonlight, accompanied only by heavy, panicked breathing. It wasn’t until Eltariel summoned the Light of Galadriel and Gandalf relit his staff that they could see again.

     “Is everyone alright?” Aragorn asked, still catching his breath.

     Most of the group gave a shaky nod after a few moments.

     “We now have but one choice: we must face the long dark of Moria,” Gandalf told them, once again leading the way forward. “Be on your guard. There are older, fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.” Aragorn, Boromir, and Talion took the rear, behind the hobbits and Gimli, who followed behind Eltariel and Legolas. Everyone was alert, each step cautious, eyes and ears searching for any sign of danger. “It will take us several days to reach the other side. Let us hope that our journey goes uninterrupted by anything that dwells here.”

     “And what are the chances of that happening?” Eltariel asked under her breath.

     The Fellowship emerged in a large and seemingly endless cavern, passing under roughly chiseled rock archways and traversing narrow, weathered stone paths, the threat of tumbling into the bottomless darkness below ever present. While the first part of the journey was uneventful, they eventually came across the remains of a mine, Gandalf explaining the importance and rarity of mithril. At the mention of Bilbo’s mithril shirt, Talion watched Frodo glance down at his chest, eyes widening when the value of the shirt was revealed to be more than the value of the entire Shire itself.

     The next few days of exhausting and tense travel would become a strange blur in his mind as his vision flashed between the dark, endless, ominous tunnels before him and sprawling, lively, warmly lit paths of a Moria long gone. Sometimes, he would see flashes of dwarves doing all sorts of tasks: mining, conversing, dining, training, working. Other times, he might just see the high ceilings, intricately carved columns and walls, and massive spaces that—to outsiders would seem magnificent and awe inspiring—must have been an everyday sight to the dwarves of the past. His footsteps were the only clear noise to greet his ears when this happened (other sounds warped and distant), and Talion, more than once, found himself under the concerned gazes of several members of the Fellowship before his senses returned to normal.

     The Fellowship eventually came across a steep set of stairs that led to three identical doorways. Gandalf looked between them in confusion and concern.

     “I have no memory of this place,” he told them.

     They decided to stop for the moment, and almost everyone gratefully took a seat.

      “You may not be very tired, but some of us appreciate the rest,” Eltariel told him at his surprised expression, though not maliciously so.

     He joined her on the ground, looking around at the Fellowship. Gimli grieved still for those who had lost their lives, and for the state of the once great city. Merry, Pippin, and Sam looked at their surroundings curiously, but warily. Boromir examined his blade, making an effort to keep the unease out of his expression as he did so. Aragorn and Legolas were in hushed conversation, as were Frodo and Gandalf.

     “It’s not that,” he replied with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes and trying to blink away visions of the past. “As we’ve traveled, I’ve been seeing things. Memories.”

     “Celebrimbor’s?”

     “Of Moria in all of its glory,” he confirmed. “It was warm, full of life, grand, beautiful. Words cannot do these halls justice. When we stopped…” 

     “You were greeted by this lovely dark and abandoned sight. I suppose that would be jarring… Do you know the way forward?” 

     Talion glanced between the doorways several times before shaking his head. 

     “Nothing comes to mind.” 

     “Oh! It’s that way,” Gandalf suddenly piped up, drawing everyone’s attention as he stood and broke away from Frodo.

     Talion and Eltariel exchanged a skeptical look as they all got back to their feet, continuing on.

     It wouldn’t be much longer until the Fellowship found themselves in a massive, open chamber with rows upon rows of intricately designed columns and archways as far as the eye could see. Talion glanced around, vision briefly flashing to a warm, inviting hall. At Gandalf’s alarmed shout, his gaze snapped to Gimli, who had sprinted ahead to a dimly lit side room. Everyone quickly followed, watching Gimli crumple to his knees again, head bowed as he leaned on his axe and wept. A small army of dwarf corpses littered the room, all surrounding a stone tomb, which was lit by natural light filtering in from above ground through cracks in the ceiling. Gandalf read the inscription on it aloud.

     “Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria. He is dead then. It’s as I feared.”

     Gimli continued to weep, until Gandalf’s eyes fell upon a dust covered tome clutched in the hands of a skeleton.

     Handing his staff and hat off to Pippin, he plucked it from its grasp, brushing it off and blowing dust out of its pages, skimming through it.

     “We cannot linger,” Legolas whispered to Aragorn, sharing Talion’s unease. “It isn’t safe.”

     “No part of Moria is safe now, though I agree. We should keep moving,” Talion told him. “I suppose Gandalf is trying to find out what has happened here.”

     Legolas met his gaze with a nod of understanding, but remained wary. They all listened to Gandalf as he recounted the last few pages written in the book. He spoke of the dwarves barricading themselves against the enemy, of hearing thundering drums as they approached and having no escape. The hopelessness of the words seemed to bleed through the pages and into the air, casting a dark feeling over the room. Pippin backed away in fear all the while, not stopping until he bumped into an armor-clad skeleton, which tumbled down into the depths of the well it laid upon. He flinched as each crash reverberated sharply through the otherwise silent area. An ominous silence followed, and Pippin wore a sheepish and terrified look on his face. The Fellowship held their breath for a few moments after, and Gandalf rounded on Pippin with a scowl, about to reprimand him when what sounded like a drumbeat stopped him dead in his tracks. Everyone froze, listening closely. Another, then another, sounded.

     “Frodo!” Sam exclaimed in a panic, the now blue glowing Sting catching his eye as cackling cries met their ears.

     That could only mean one thing.

     “Orcs!” Eltariel confirmed.

     Boromir rushed to the door, peering around the corner before quickly snatching his head back, narrowly avoiding being impaled by two black, tainted arrows.

     “Get back! Stay close to Gandalf!” Aragorn told the hobbits, who quickly followed the orders.

     He went to assist Boromir with closing and barring the door before everyone closed ranks around Balin’s tomb, weapons drawn and raised for a fight.

     “They have a cave troll,” Boromir remarked with annoyance, shield and sword gleaming in the dim light.

     He stood next to Aragorn and Legolas, who had bows aimed at the doors. Gimli stood atop Balin’s tomb with his axe in hand. Gandalf, Eltariel, and Talion stood in front of the hobbits, their swords drawn. The doors shook and cracked from the force of their enemies before crumbling inward completely, one of them blasted off its hinges as orcs came spilling into the room with enraged shrieks. Aragorn and Legolas unleashed a volley of arrows, felling the first few. With battle cries, the Fellowship charged, hacking and slashing their way through what seemed, in the moment, to be an endless supply of orcs. The hobbits banded together, Aragorn and Boromir fighting closely, as were Legolas and Eltariel. Gandalf, Gimli, and Talion fought separately, making sure the other groups weren’t overwhelmed. The tide of the battle shifted as a roar shook the room, a cave troll, easily several times bigger than everyone in the Fellowship, smashing through the doorway with a large mace.

     The room descended into even more chaos. Aragorn and Boromir distracted the troll—who had its sights set on a disoriented Sam—by yanking on the chain connected to its large spiked collar, taking hard blows as they went sailing to opposite sides of the room. A small blast shook the ground as a group of orcs became frozen solid, Talion and Gimli smashing their way through them as they crossed paths. Eltariel beheaded several orcs coming too close to Legolas, blasting others nearby with precise beams of light that dropped them where they stood. Each member of the Fellowship, save Gandalf, got in attacks against the cave troll, whether that be well placed arrows or swift sword strikes. The cave troll shook the attacks off each time, though its movements eventually began to slow.

     There were several moments, in the midst of battle, that one of them found themselves on the brink of death before another Fellowship member came to their aid. A few well timed arrows from Legolas sent the cave troll stumbling backwards from an unaware Gimli, a light blast from Eltariel killing an orc who had overpowered Merry, and a few spectral daggers to the throat spared a bewildered Boromir from an untimely death by axe. The most frightening of them all came when Frodo, cornered by the cave troll, cried out for Aragorn. Despite taking a spear to the chest, the cave troll swatted Aragorn to the side without pause. A panicked Frodo ran to his side to find him unmoving but breathing, soon finding himself slumped in a corner with the breath knocked out of him. Before he could react, he was viciously stabbed by the same spear the troll had been impaled by just a minute ago.

     “Frodo!” Sam shouted, and the Fellowship battled to his side with a renewed vigor.

     Merry and Pippin leapt atop the cave troll, jabbing at it as the rest of the Fellowship attacked from below. With furious cries, Pippin and Merry stabbed the troll’s head, wrenching it back and allowing Legolas to pierce its neck with several arrows. It swayed before falling to the ground with a loud, echoing thud! , sending up a cloud of dust as the hobbits tumbled back to the ground. Talion shook Aragorn lightly, and he came to with a mumble of confusion. He looked around to see the Fellowship surrounding the dead cave troll before his eyes fell on a motionless Frodo, and he stumbled to his feet, rushing over to him with wide eyes.

     “Oh no,” he whispered shakily, before turning Frodo onto his front to find him alive and breathing. Sam rushed to his side as well with a look of relief, helping Frodo sit up. “You should be dead,” Aragorn told him. “That spear would’ve skewered a wild boar!”

     “I think there’s more to this hobbit than meets the eye,” Gandalf told them all with a smile.

     Frodo looked to him before unbuttoning the top of his shirt to reveal…

     “Mithril,” Gimli uttered in awe. “You are full of surprises, Master Baggins,” he stated with a smile of his own.

     The relief in the room quickly morphed into panic at the echoing cries of yet more orcs, much louder and greater in number than before.

     “To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. Quickly!” Gandalf exclaimed, and the Fellowship followed his lead as they sprinted away from the quickly closing in army.

     The light of Gandalf’s staff and the Light of Galadriel from Eltariel illuminated the dark paths of Dwarrowdelf ahead of them as orcs and goblins poured from behind them, out of the walls and the ceiling, flooding the area and leaving them with no route for escape. As the Fellowship prepared to perhaps make their last stand, a low rumbling growl sent the hall full of dark creatures scurrying away in fear. They saw a bright, warm light illuminating the way ahead of them, a strange heat filling the room. Talion froze. He knew that sound all too well.

     “A balrog,” he realized.

     “A demon of the ancient world! Run!” Gandalf shouted, and they once again followed his lead, turning and sprinting through the nearest doorway.

     Down long, winding staircases they fled, narrowly avoiding falling over the edge on several occasions. They soon encountered a large gap between where they stood and the rest of the path. Legolas and Eltariel jumped it with ease, landing safely on the other side and holding their arms out to catch the others. Gandalf went first, managing to make it over without too much trouble. Boromir grabbed hold of Merry and Pippin, more of the staircase crumbling away as the three of them made it over next. Arrows began to rain down on them from orcs in the passageways above, and Legolas drew his bow again and fended them off as Eltariel caught Sam, who had been thrown over by Aragorn. Aragorn offered to throw Gimli over next, but the dwarf stubbornly refused. He attempted to make the jump by himself, only for Legolas to have to grab him by his beard and pull him up before he could plummet to his death.

     Talion, Aragorn, and Frodo remained on the other side, which cracked and swayed as the low, rumbling growl from earlier made itself known, now a roar. With a crash, huge chunks of rock fell from above, effectively cutting off the way back. Aragorn, ever level-headed, kept a tight grip on Frodo as the piece of staircase they stood on threatened to pitch them over the side. Talion put his arms around the two of them as tendrils of wraith green magic swirled around him.

     “Hold on!” he told them as the staircase swayed.

     The rest of the Fellowship looked on with nervous eyes. Talion felt Aragorn and Frodo grip his arms tightly, and with a flash of unnatural light he shadow-pulled them across the gap, stumbling against Eltariel as their feet found solid, steady ground again. The group was whole once more.

     “Over the bridge!” Gandalf told them as they reached the bottom of the path, staying back as everyone else ran ahead.

     Talion stopped a few feet away, watching the flames that rose up from the edge of the passageway as the balrog emerged with a blood curdling bellow. The beast seemed as if made of shadow and flame, with curved horns, harshly glowing eyes, and mouth full of sharp, dagger-like teeth. Its clawed hands and gigantic feet paled in comparison to its billowing leathery wings that sent waves of fire rolling through the air.

     The Bridge of Khazad-dûm was just wide enough for them to run across single file, and they wasted no time trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the deadly monster that chased them.  

     Talion was about three quarters of the way across when he heard, “You cannot pass!”

     He stopped, looking back to see Gandalf facing the balrog, wielding his brightly lit staff and his sword, Glamdring, as he blocked its path. What was he doing?! 

     “Talion!” Eltariel shouted in concern.

     Talion briefly looked to her before looking back at the scene unfolding before him. The balrog rose to its full height, a flaming sword materializing in its hand as its body became wrapped in a fiery cloak.

     “I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor. Dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun!” The balrog swung heavily at Gandalf, whose shield of light blocked and reflected the attack. It stumbled back from the impact. “Go back to the shadow.” Taking a step forward onto the bridge, the balrog brandished a fiery whip, cracking it in the air. The Fellowship looked on the edge of running out to them, but were frozen just like Talion, paralyzed with fear. “You shall not pass!” Gandalf shouted with authority, slamming Glamdring and his staff down on the bridge with a flare of ancient power.

     As soon as the balrog took another step, the bridge crumbled under its feet and sent it crashing down into the darkness below with a helpless screech. Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff in exhaustion for a moment before turning to join the others.

     Without warning, he found himself being dragged down by the balrog’s whip, and Talion shadow struck his way to Gandalf without a second thought, grabbing one of his hands and trying to pull him back up. He gritted his teeth, hearing Frodo’s panicked shouts for them both and feeling his heart seize in his chest. The balrog’s strength was too great, and Talion felt his heels scrape and slip on the hot, crumbling stone. He saw Gandalf look past him to the rest of the Fellowship with resigned eyes, and a sense of dread filled him.

     “Fly, you fools.”

     Talion felt Gandalf pry his hand free. 

     “ No !” Talion and Frodo exclaimed in unison.

     Gandalf gave him a meaningful look, eyes conveying to Talion more than he knew what to do with in that moment, before disappearing below. Time stood still as his gaze remained fixed on the spot where Gandalf had been not a few seconds ago. Talion felt whatever fight and energy he had left leave him. Gandalf… Gandalf was…

     “Talion! Aragorn!” Talion heard Boromir shout, shocking him out of his stupor.

     His eyes found Boromir holding a struggling Frodo, running after the others, and Aragorn standing at the edge of the bridge, looking just as broken as Talion felt. Aragorn met his gaze, and an understanding passed between them as they ran to join the rest of the Fellowship, arrows raining down upon them as orcs returned tenfold following the balrog’s disappearance. Up several more staircases they went until they found themselves outside, back on a quiet, rocky mountainside under bright blue skies.

     The hobbits crumpled to the ground with sobs, Gimli holding back furious tears as Boromir, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably, held him back from running inside in a murderous rage. Legolas looked at the exit to Moria with a great sadness in his eyes. Eltariel was rooted to the spot, eyes closed and head bowed. Aragorn looked to be trying to pull himself together as quickly as possible, eyes sweeping over the group with sorrow before his expression changed to one of resolve.

     Talion felt empty. He and Gandalf had never been overly close, but every member of the Fellowship shared a bond, a strong, unbreakable bond from many months of traveling on what many deemed an impossible journey. He stopped next to Frodo, who stood by the edge of the rocky cliff they were on. Frodo looked to him, and Talion could see that his watery eyes had lost all hope and light, almost a dull gray compared to the soft cerulean he was used to.

     They had made it through Moria, at the cost of one of their own. What other losses might they have to endure before this was all over? That question passed silently between the pair as the Fellowship continued to mourn.

     Talion thought he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking back to find no one there. His eyes found the New Ring glowing softly beneath his armor, and Talion clutched it tightly to his chest, feeling a bit of warmth seep back into him. They would get through this. They had to. They had to keep moving. He looked to Aragorn, meeting his gaze with a nod.

     “We cannot put our lives at risk by staying here to mourn Gandalf’s passing,” Aragorn told the group. Boromir looked ready to protest, but Aragorn cut him off. “By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs. We must reach Lothlorien.” 

     “Come, Frodo,” Talion told him gently, dropping the New Ring out of sight as he rejoined the others.

     Frodo followed slowly, eyes distant and unfocused. Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir helped everyone up, and the Fellowship somehow found the strength to move forward, sorrow hanging over them every step of the way.

Translations

(Q): Aquetuvan tye, illumë → I will answer you, always

Chapter Text

Fractures

     “For the last time, brother, I am fine,” Serka insisted as Baranor once again fussed over him in the Gorgoroth fortress’ medical room. The smooth stone table he sat on was stained with blood and covered in rolls of bandages and medicinal herbs. “It is but a scra—OW!”

     “Just a scratch?” Baranor asked, none too gently prodding at his heavily wrapped arm. “That gash is almost bone deep. You’re lucky that axe didn’t take your arm clean off.”

     Serka huffed, gently knocking his hand away.

     “It was either sacrifice my arm or watch you get decapitated, and I think I prefer you being in one piece.”

     “You think?”

     Baranor sighed, turning back to the stack of letters he’d been going through on his way there.

     Idril had sent word some time ago from Cirith Ungol about Shelob agreeing to help them. Swarms of spiders now led them to well supplied orc camps, helped them avoid new enemy patrols (that had grown more numerous by the week), and provided opportunities for quick escapes from ambushes. Skak has sent a shipment of food and supplies from Nurn that they’d had to fight to keep safe upon transport to the stronghold. Ur-Edin had sent a warning to watch for new enemy movements and start fortifying defenses in preparation for large scale attacks.

     Gorgoroth had been holding their own against the new enemy fairly well at first, but exhaustion and injury were taking their toll. The attacking force from the previous day hadn’t been any larger than normal, but it was comprised of sappers, savages, and hunters. Holes were blown into the gates and weak spots in the walls to clear the way for a huge barrage of throwing axes and spears. Baranor had been helping free a group of soldiers from smoldering rubble when a throwing axe flew directly at his head. Serka had, of course, shoved him aside, collapsing with a shout of agony as the axe became lodged in one of his arms. There were more than a few orcs and men sporting burns, gashes, stab wounds, and severed limbs around them.

     The attack had halted Baranor’s plan to continue scouting for more underground orc camps and new tunnel routes, which had become a major factor in orc trading between regions. He had stopped his fair share of trafficking and heard quite a few rumors in the process, the latest of which involved—

     “Your shieldmaiden friend… How do you think she’s doing right now?”

     Idril grimaced from her hiding spot, overlooking a relatively new orc camp from an icy cliff in Seregost.

     Men and orcs were positioned all around the area, ready to fire on the unknowing enemies at a moment’s notice. Supplies from beyond Mordor lay stacked in crates marked with a white hand everywhere they looked: weapons, medicine, explosives, building materials. A successful raid here would go a long way in helping them rebuild after the attacks they had suffered recently. She had been preparing to give the signal when a conversation from below caught her attention, from a trio of orcs huddled around a fire that was barely holding against the evening’s strong wind.

     “Did you hear that Shágflak and Gruk ran and took their troops with them?”

     “Hmph. The cowardly globs. Good riddance! Once more of the Gravewalker’s captains join them, that fortress of his will be ripe for the taking!”

     “Ishgha was talking to some the other day, said he has ‘em convinced that the Gravewalker’s abandoned everyone. They’ll be joining us within the week.”

     Zuka, she believed the orc next to her was called, adjusted his crossbow, aiming for the fire pit with a poisoned bolt, the acrid green liquid hissing against the metal it coated.

     “Just say the word, boss,” he told her, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

     “How long has this been happening?” she asked him, gesturing towards the trio below. “Orcs defecting from within, spreading doubt and lies?”

     “Uh…” He lowered his crossbow slowly, hesitant to answer for a few moments. “A month or so ago, there was a massive attack on our fortress. We were overrun by hundreds of Uruks. They were barely old enough or smart enough to hold even a club, much less something sharp, but they outnumbered us. Ur-Edin barely made it through and I got stuck with this.”

     He held up his right hand with a low grumble. Upon further inspection, Idril realized Zuka’s crossbow was actually a part of his arm now, replacing what used to be his hand and lower forearm.

     “When everyone saw how much damage had been done and how many orcs we lost, they started whispering, jumping at sounds and cowering like pink skins in a cage—No offense, of course.”

     Idril waved off the comment dismissively, turning back towards the orc camp with a contemplative look, tuning back into the earlier conversation.

     “—think the new slave camp is up and running yet? That last settlement we found had a lot of man-filth in it.” 

     “I want those three alive. Let’s see what else they’ve heard,” she told him, pointing at the trio she’d been listening in on with a newfound rage.

     She gestured to an assassin orc nearby and relayed the message, receiving a nod in reply as he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Unsheathing her sword, she held it in the air, briefly glancing around before swiftly pointing it forward. Arrows, bolts, spears, and axes began raining down on the camp immediately after, and Idril planned to let her more overzealous captains extract every bit of information about any more slave camps by whatever means necessary.

XxX

     Travel was once again quiet, as it had been when the Fellowship first set out from Rivendell. There were no quiet musings, jokes, or comments. Instead, there was only a sorrow that made every step heavier and harder to take than the last. Aragorn and Legolas led the way, followed by Boromir, Gimli, and the hobbits, Eltariel and Talion bringing up the rear. Many sleepless nights were had, and Talion often found himself lying awake and staring at the endless, empty skies with a mind he could not quiet. When his thoughts were so loud he felt he might crawl out of his skin, he quietly snuck away—sometimes to run and climb and jump until his lungs and muscles burned and he was out of breath, and others to call down Luinil, who he hadn’t seen in many months. She would always affectionately bump her snout against his armor in greeting, trying to radiate calm when she sensed his distress.

     Tonight, he sailed towards the clouds, feeling the wind whip his hair and watching the dark, shadowy land below him blur by. Rocky mountain ranges gave way to the beginnings of a forest, stone transitioning to trees and dirt pathways once more. In the sky, he didn’t think or speak, simply letting Luinil carry him through the air and trusting that she wouldn’t take him too far from the others. He gently stroked her scales as she stretched her wings and flew freely, no particular destination in mind. After a while, he closed his eyes and leaned forward, gently laying against her neck with a relaxed grip as her speed waned, slowing to a pleasant pace. She trilled softly in response as they headed back.

     By the time they were circling the camp overhead, the sky was just beginning to show hints of the sunrise. They quietly landed a safe distance away from the others. As Talion clambered down from Luinil’s back, he heard her let out a low growl, and he followed her gaze to a bewildered Frodo, who stood frozen in terror. Talion shushed her gently, rubbing her snout and beckoning Frodo closer. Frodo looked between her and Talion apprehensively, but approached. Luinil growled again with a narrow eyed glare, and Talion shushed her once more.

     “Be nice,” he told her quietly. “Hold your hand out, Frodo. She won’t hurt you.”

     After a moment of hesitation, Frodo did as he was asked, watching her sniff his hand and eye him curiously yet cautiously before pressing her snout to it, sapphire eyes now filled with kindness. Frodo laughed nervously before petting her snout, pulling his hand away slowly and looking to Talion with wide eyes.

     “Is she a drake?” he asked.

     “She’s a fire drake, though not as vicious as many others that I have met. She protected me from one of her kin once, when it looked as if I might meet my end, and has been my companion ever since.”

     “Amazing,” Frodo uttered in awe as she took off with a nod from Talion, the gust from her wings ruffling his hair and clothes. “But, what are you doing up so late? I know you do not sleep often, but… is everything alright?”

     Talion smiled sadly, shaking his head.

     “There is much on my mind. Gandalf, the Rings, Sauron, Celebrimbor. Moria was only the beginning, and there are much worse things to come. After Lothlórien, we must keep moving.”

     “You’re probably right. But how…” Talion looked to Frodo, who seemed to be struggling with his thoughts. “How do you do it? After everything you’ve lost, how do you find the strength to keep going?” 

     Talion sighed, images of Dirhael and Ioreth flashing before his eyes at that, disappearing as quickly as they had come.

     “I remember that I’m fighting for those I’ve lost, that they wouldn’t want to see me lay down on my sword and give up. I’m fighting so that others will never have to endure the losses I have, and so those separated by the fighting can be together again someday.” He pulled the New Ring out from underneath his armor, examining it in the pale light. “I know he would want me to keep fighting, instead of despairing over our separation… just as Gandalf wouldn’t want his death to weigh you down on our journey.”

     Frodo nodded, looking away as he wiped at a tear.

     “I miss him. I trust Aragorn to lead us, but… it won’t be the same.” 

     Talion felt him lean against his side, and he pulled him into a comforting embrace.

     “I know, but all we can do now is move forward.”

XxX

     Eltariel was anxious that day. Her mind was very obviously elsewhere, and it wasn’t until Talion brought up her peculiar behavior yet again after several responses of, “It’s nothing” and “I’m fine” that she finally explained.

     “We are approaching Lothlórien,” she told him, though she didn’t seem at all thrilled at the idea, he noted. 

     “Aren’t you excited to be so close to your home, a place others only hear about in tales and dreams?” 

     “I… don’t think I’d be very welcome there at the moment.”

     “And why is that?”

     She hesitated.

     “I have failed the Lady Galadriel. Had you not helped me escape Barad-dûr, I would still be in chains, wasting away while my quest remained unfinished. The Nazgûl would roam Middle-earth without resistance or someone to keep them in check, and probably would have captured the One Ring long ago. If they had succeeded, I…” She shook her head in dismay. “I do not think I could face her knowing this.”

     Talion considered her for a moment.

     “She is patient and just, yes? Surely she would understand that your task was nigh impossible?”

     “She is not always as she appears. Just? Yes. Patient? Often. But she is powerful, in both beauty and anger. She can be truly frightening. I… I strayed from my quest because of a chance at true peace, at winning the war before it could truly begin, and a glimpse of limitless power. She… is cross with me.”

     She looked away then, mind flashing back to her vision of Lady Galadriel back at Barad-dûr.

      As Celebrimbor and Sauron fused together, disappearing into a Flaming Eye that watched over Mordor with a vengeance, her vision faded to black as she collapsed from the force of the resulting blast. When next she woke, Eltariel found herself in a heavy fog that blanketed the otherwise endless darkness around her. Indistinct whispers met her ears, footsteps silent as she wandered aimlessly, until a bright shroud of mist morphed into an all too familiar figure before her. Where there was darkness, an almost blinding light now replaced it, and Galadriel let her gaze settle over an exhausted, despairing Eltariel, who gasped at her sudden appearance.

     “My Lady… I failed you,” she admitted brokenly, approaching her. “I stood with Celebrimbor. I wore his Ring.” She bowed her head in shame. “And we failed to defeat the Dark Lord.”

     Galadriel wore an unreadable expression, unsurprised by the information as she breezed right past Eltariel.

     “The Dark Lord and the Bright Lord are one, a Flaming Eye above Barad-dûr… But I sent you to Mordor for the Nazgûl, and your work is unfinished.”

     Eltariel felt anguish wash over her at those words. She was exhausted. For years she had hunted down the foul Ringwraiths, doing nothing more than keeping them at bay. And after everything that she’d done, after having Sauron at her mercy and failing to deal a finishing blow with a Ring of Power… she wanted it to be over. Defeat on such a large scale was not something she’d experienced before. She hadn’t felt this afraid since childhood. How was she to continue her mission knowing that her failure, her weakness, had jeopardized the fate of Middle-earth?

     “My Lady, let me come home,” she pleaded, raising her head. “I—”

     “You will finish what you started, beginning with the Nazgûl who dwells within Minas Morgul, who now wears Isildur’s Ring because of your recklessness.”

     Nazgûl?

     Talion, Eltariel realized, overwhelmed with guilt. Talion… alive, wearing a new Ring of Power… A Nazgûl? How cruel could fate be to a man, especially a man who had suffered as much as he?

     “My Lady, I cannot,” Eltariel insisted desperately.

     “You will finish what you started,” Galadriel emphasized, the power in her voice causing Eltariel to take a step back in fear. “Then, you may return home.”

     Eyes cast downward, she replied, defeated, “It shall be done.”

     As the light faded, she found herself waking in panic as awareness returned. She fought and struggled against the chains that bound her, screamed until she was hoarse and her muscles ached from her efforts. Every movement sapped a little more of her strength, an icy hopelessness running through her veins as warmth disappeared and exhaustion overcame her. As her eyes slipped shut, she thought she could see the smirking form of Sauron slowly making his way towards her, crimson eyes the only hint of color in an otherwise dark and bleak landscape.

     Shivering, she told him adamantly, “I cannot go home.”

     Talion looked to her with heartbreak, surprised at how vulnerable she was in that moment. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. 

     “Why didn’t you mention this before?” he asked in concern.

     “I… You didn’t ask. At the time, I didn’t think…”

     I didn’t think you would care.

     Talion sighed, but smiled reassuringly.

     “I’m sure everything will be fine. Besides, weren’t you the one that said it does not do to dwell only on the negative?”

     She scoffed, a sad smile tugging at her lips. From there, the two fell into a comfortable silence as the Fellowship continued moving forward, familiar trees and pathways greeting her eyes as they went deeper into the forest around them. Soft moss cushioned their dirt path, golden leaves leisurely fluttering to the ground. She heard the creaking of tree limbs and rustling of foliage as several pairs of quick footsteps headed in their direction.

     “Stay closer, hobbits,” Gimli warned in a hushed voice, beckoning to Frodo and Sam. “They say a great sorceress lives in these woods. An elf witch… of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell… and are never seen again.” Eltariel eyed Gimli with a frown, watching Frodo look around, bewildered and frightened. She could only guess that the Lady Galadriel had made contact with him. She met Sam’s eyes, meeting his look of concern with one of reassurance. He nodded to her before asking Frodo if he was alright. “Well, here’s one dwarf she won’t ensnare so easily.” Eltariel rolled her eyes as she watched the situation unfold, a few of her brethren approaching silently, mere steps from Gimli. “I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox! Oh!”

     The Fellowship, save Legolas—who drew his bow without fear—and Eltariel, froze as newcomers aimed arrows between their eyes. The leader of the group wore a cautious expression, and Eltariel couldn’t help but feel as if he were familiar. It had been too long since she had been home, and much had changed since her parting. She was no longer the carefree, wild looking elleth she once was, and she could only assume that those she knew would look completely different as well. 

     “The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark,” he remarked, drawing a growl out of Gimli, before signaling to his allies. They lowered their bows, placing their arrows back in their quivers and leading them further into the forest to where they had been scouting. He welcomed Legolas and Aragorn kindly before acknowledging a fuming Gimli, who uttered something deplorable in Khuzdul that got him reprimanded by Aragorn and Talion. As his eyes fell on Talion and then Frodo, they widened as he felt the dark, raw power emanating from them, and he told them with a hint of finality, “You bring great evil with you. You can go no further.”

     Aragorn went after him, and Eltariel listened to their back and forth: Aragorn insisted that if anyone could offer insight into the quest of the destruction of the Ring, it was Galadriel, and that the Fellowship intended to do everything in their power to ensure the quest was completed. The familiar stranger made his concern known, questioning the safety of the people of Lothlórien with the Enemy’s coveted Ring in their midst. They continued their hushed discussion for several minutes, and Eltariel’s attention turned back to the rest of the Fellowship. 

     Talion looked more isolated than usual, separating himself from the rest of the group and standing almost out of sight. Sadness weighed the hobbits down heavily, and Eltariel watched Boromir try to comfort Frodo, whose eyes seemed most haunted by the events of Moria. Gimli glared at the elves that watched them, almost daring them to say something to him, while Legolas listened in on the conversation as well. After a final plea from Aragorn, the stranger relented, and motioned to the Fellowship.

     “You will follow me,” he told them, leading them further into the woods. They followed on for a while in silence, and Eltariel’s eyes never left him, trying to place where she’d heard his voice before. After the sky had lightened considerably, they stopped at a vantage point, and she saw a proud yet gentle smile grace his features as he spoke with a true love for his home. “Caras Galadhon, the heart of Elvendom on earth, home of Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light.”

     He continued to lead them into the heart of her home, and she watched their eyes widen with awe and wonder at the beauty of the realm. She refamiliarized herself with Lothlórien’s brightly lit winding staircases and platforms that were extensions of the endlessly tall trees that housed them, the leaves of gold that gave the woods their name, the warmth of lanterns and fireflies. Hope, comfort, and ease were ever present in the magic of Nenya, and it created the peaceful atmosphere of the realm protected from the shadow of a greater looming evil. As she continued walking the path they were on, she began to realize just where they were being led, and she shivered as her last conversation with Galadriel came to mind.

     “Eltariel?” Talion asked quietly, just loud enough for only her to hear.

     “It is nothing,” she reassured him, though she could tell he didn’t believe her.

     At the top of the last flight of stairs was the highest platform of the great tree they had just ascended, and it led to what Eltariel knew to be the home of Galadriel and Celeborn. They descended the small set of stairs to their chambers hand in hand, glowing with a beauty only the high elves of old possessed. As Celeborn addressed them, Galadriel kept silent, and at the mention of Gandalf she felt in her heart that he had passed beyond their reach in Moria. The air around her was suddenly suffocating from grief for but a moment before it returned to normal. Eltariel tensed when she saw Galadriel look into the eyes of each individual member of the Fellowship. She watched Gimli’s expression crumble before Galadriel’s comforting words brought hope back into him, saw Aragorn bow his head, eyes cast downward, saw Boromir nearly burst into tears. Beside her, she heard Talion gasp, hand going to where the New Ring hung underneath his armor, and she was shocked to see Galadriel’s brief look of surprise that disappeared in the blink of an eye. When he averted his gaze, trying to get his breathing back under control, she knew it was her turn. 

     Eltariel looked into Galadriel’s eyes with shame, with regret and a sliver of hope, but was shocked when she received no terrifying visions or emotions, as her companions most likely had. Instead, what she found was an almost unreadable expression full of too many emotions to properly decipher the Lady’s true reaction to her. What she could make out was relief, sadness, determination, and frustration, and she wasn’t sure what exactly was being directed towards her.

      Feel not shame, my child, but comfort, for you have returned home after a time of great suffering. You are safe now.

     They broke eye contact then, and Eltariel let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

     “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace.”

     As she spoke those words, Eltariel saw her eyes fall on Frodo. For now, at least, she would be able to plan just what exactly she would say to her when the time came for them to meet again. As Galadriel swept gracefully away from the platform, Eltariel looked to Celeborn, who gazed upon her lovingly, and she did not hesitate to go to him as he wrapped his arms around her.

     “Eltariel,” he whispered fondly.

     “My Lord,” she greeted back with a kind smile, returning the embrace.

     When they pulled back, Celeborn lowered her hood, tucking loose strands of hair behind an ear as he observed her.

     “The hardships and horrors of Middle-earth have changed you greatly… but I am truly glad they have not changed you completely. Welcome home, sel nin.”

     Eltariel couldn’t help the way her heart felt lighter when she heard those words from him. She knew that she was no Celebrian, but Celeborn had never hesitated to treat her as if she were his daughter, and she couldn’t feel more appreciative and loving towards the Lord of the Golden Wood. He returned to his chambers shortly after, and Eltariel readied herself to join the company when she came face to face with the ellon who had consumed her thoughts for most of their travels in Lothlórien. He took in her non-hooded appearance, and his eyes widened in recognition. No longer was she the young elleth he’d trained with, spent nights under the stars with, chased through trees and challenged to dares that usually got the two in almost as much trouble as his brothers. No, here was a battle hardened elleth who’d seen and done much, so much that he hadn’t recognized her at first glance. Eltariel watched his confusion morph into a surprised happiness.

     “Never in my wildest dreams did I think we would be reunited here. You are much changed since last we saw each other, gwinig.”

     The nickname drew a gasp out of her as she realized just who she was speaking to, and her gaze softened, filled first with great joy before being replaced by great sorrow.

     “Haldir.”

     He nodded, smile slowly fading as he watched an apology rise to her lips. He shushed her gently as she went to speak, a hand raised in plea.

     “What’s done is done, and the past is behind us. I do not wish to reflect on unpleasant times.” She nodded, looking at how much her childhood best friend had changed in her absence. Muscle built from years of hard work and training, beautiful long golden tresses that hung past his shoulders and framed his face just so, steely blue eyes no longer holding the mischief that used to always be present in them. He had grown into a fine and handsome ellon. “I am glad you have returned home safely, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

     “As do I,” she told him. “I…” What could she say to him? Ever since she had left, she had done her best to put her past behind her, to focus only on the task at hand: to hunt down the Nazgûl until they were defeated once and for all. She had, for so long, blocked out many of her memories growing up, so as to not let those times distract her when greater things were at stake. Now, she felt the walls she’d built to protect herself come crashing down, joyful, and painful, memories of a time of peace and fewer worries flooding her mind. She shook her head as some of her last memories of home, of Haldir and her departure, made themselves known, and he looked to her in concern. “I am glad to see you well,” she finally settled on. “It seems I’m not the only one who is much changed.”

     Haldir laughed softly.

     “My days of pranking my brothers and running rampant through the trees are behind me. I no longer have the time as marchwarden, and… I lost my accomplice along the way.”

     His gaze saddened at that, and Eltariel sighed.

     “That time has passed for me as well. I… don’t even know if I remember how it feels, to run free, without a care in the world, without the fate of the world resting partly on my shoulders…”

     A strange silence followed for a few moments before Haldir cleared his throat awkwardly.

     “You must be weary from your travels. Perhaps you should rest.” 

     “Perhaps,” Eltariel agreed quietly.

     They met each other’s gazes with unreadable expressions before averting their eyes and parting ways, not looking back.

XxX

     A few days later, Talion found himself wandering as the rest of the Fellowship settled in for the night, gaze drawn to the beauty of the Golden Wood in the dark. Brilliantly lit paths led him to many small clearings and stretches of forest, and the soft sounds of nature calmed him as he allowed his mind to wander, his feet carrying him where they would. He only looked up when his steps slowed, finding himself in a new clearing, stone statues, ancient trees, a fountain, and a strange stone basin at its center. Galadriel looked up from where she was gathering water, and he met her gaze curiously. She still glowed with the same otherworldly light and beauty as before, but this time she had a different air about her. She observed him with caution, and Talion’s mind flashed back to their arrival, to her shock at finding out about his connection to Celebrimbor through the New Ring.

     “Your fate is a strange one, Talion of the Black Gate. Before our first meeting, I considered you an enemy, a threat to this world. Now, your fate has changed yet again, and it is unclear where it will take you.”

     Talion slowly came further into the grassy area, movements careful and measured.

     “How has it changed?” 

     “Before, you seemed destined to join the Nine, trapped in servitude to Sauron until the undoing of the One Ring. Now, you and Eltariel have begun to rewrite a tale that seemed set in stone.” Her eyes turned piercing, searching. “But that is not the reason you came here.”

     Talion paused, but nodded.

     “Frodo told me of a mirror, one that allows you to see what may or may not come to pass, full of horrors and tragedy.” 

     “And you wish to see for yourself,” Galadriel observed, approaching the mirror and pouring more water into it, actions graceful and effortless.

     Talion nodded, bowing with a deep breath.

     “With your permission, my lady.”

     She looked at him for a moment before taking a few steps back, welcoming him forward.

     “As you wish.”

     He stood back up, taking uneasy steps towards the mirror, stopping as he hovered over it, seeing his reflection in the water, the moon and stars a bright, stark contrast to his dark armor and gloomy figure. He stared at the unmoving surface nervously, startling as it rippled. 

     His eyes turned their flame color before a Ringwraith’s mask covered his face, a fell beast landing next to him on the flaming plains of Gorgoroth. The scene changed, showing a massacre of the members of the Fellowship and an army of battling orcs (those loyal to Sauron against those loyal to Talion), the capture of a bloodied and almost lifeless Eltariel and Aragorn. He hovered over a terrified Frodo, Urfael held to his neck as he snatched the chain of the One Ring with a victorious, cold grin. He slit Frodo’s throat slowly and with satisfaction, watching the hobbit choke on his own blood as the life drained from his eyes.

     The scene changed again, Talion kneeling at Sauron’s feet and holding the One Ring out to him, Sauron’s eyes alight as he grinned widely. He slid it on his finger, and Talion found himself blasted back by a burst of all-powerful energy, a strong and whole looking Sauron standing tall and invincible before him. Talion’s gaze looked out from the top of Barad-dûr, watching the entirety of Middle-earth fall under his tyranny, civilizations a shell of their former selves, endless armies enslaving those too afraid to fight back, places of beauty unrecognizable; his world had become more of a graveyard than the entrance to Moria.

     At the end of it all, however, was an eye. It was not greedy, hate filled, and the color of ravenous flames, as expected, but benevolent, determined, and sky blue. It hovered over all of the terrible visions seen before it, a light piercing through the hopeless and terrifying darkness, and in it was the silhouette of a very familiar elf. A mortal hand—his hand—earnestly tried to free itself from a cloak of darkness, reaching for the eye in desperation. Celebrimbor’s spectral hand reached back, but just as their fingertips grazed one another’s, Talion’s vision was consumed by an ocean of crimson flames, an all too familiar dark laugh echoing in his ears.

     Talion found himself stumbling backwards, hand clutching at the glowing and burning New Ring as he barely managed to stay on his feet, breathing erratic and panicked, heart racing. He looked to Galadriel, who met his eyes with an unreadable expression, though he could see a hint of sadness. He shuddered, and the image of him with a Ringwraith mask, merciless and unfeeling, flashed before him again. He flinched, holding the New Ring even tighter. Galadriel’s gaze fell upon his clenched hand, a soft smile coming to her face.

     “You will not fall if Celebrimbor has anything to say about it.” He followed her gaze to his clenched hand, opening it to show her the New Ring. “There is a great darkness that tries to overcome you, the price you continue to pay for bearing Isildur’s Ring.” He watched her expression fall as she said so, and she noticed. “It was a surprise upon first discovery of the original owner of the Ring you wear. A tale that was never told, a well kept secret. The same can be said of your New Ring. Your future is in your hands, and it is not mine to tell whether or not the darkness claims you in the end. That is for you to decide.” She stepped closer, closing his hand gently around the New Ring and bringing it back to his chest. “Whether you realize it or not, your fate is now tied to Frodo’s. If either one of you falls, all will be lost. Remember this,” she told him.

     After a few steadying breaths, Talion bowed and took his leave, mind spinning from what he’d just seen. He returned to his resting place, suddenly overwhelmingly weary, and as he settled down he heard a soft voice in his ear.

      The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled in grief, it grows perhaps the greater.

     The words were comforting, bringing him warmth and reassurance as his eyes slipped shut in a rare slumber.

XxX

     Eltariel found herself wandering just within the outskirts of the forest in the early morning. A week had passed since their arrival, and she had slowly gotten used to being home. Taking an old, familiar path, she eventually wound up hanging upside down in a tree with her eyes closed, listening to everything around her. She hadn’t done so since she’d left Lothlórien many years ago, and something possessed her to do it as the sun began to rise. It was familiar, comforting, something that seemed at least halfway normal ever since she’d begun dwelling on her younger, more carefree days. It felt freeing, in a way. She drew one of her blades when she heard a rustling to her left, greeted by a fond laugh shortly after.

     “This is a welcome sight,” Haldir told her gladly, hands held up in surrender as she opened her eyes.

     She felt herself flash him a lopsided grin that hadn’t emerged from her since her late adolescent years, lowering and sheathing her sword before dropping down onto the thick branch below her.

     “I… needed to get away for a while, clear my head. I missed doing that,” she told him, grin dialing down to a wistful smile. “Morning patrol?”

     “Yes. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.” Eltariel considered it, and decided she might benefit from more familiarity. She nodded. “Do you still remember the routes?”

     “Well enough,” she answered, falling to his side and drawing startled stares as they caught up to the rest of the patrol.

     Eltariel glanced at the others and found herself surrounded by old acquaintances and a few faces she didn’t quite remember. They walked in the trees above and alongside the forest paths, just out of sight of anyone on the ground. She refamiliarized herself with her surroundings, catching glimpses of memories every now and then. Most often, four young elves—three adolescent brothers and one young girl—laughed and giggled as they chased each other through trees and thickets of tall grass and vines. Their clothes were covered in mud, twigs and golden leaves sticking out of their hair, bows and daggers swaying loosely on their person as they ran. The voices echoed in her mind as she blinked and returned to the present.

     The patrol proved to be relaxing and something she didn’t know she needed, and as the rest of the group headed back towards the heart of Lothlórien, Eltariel pulled Haldir aside as something caught her eye.

     “What is it?” He reached for his bow with a frown before she stilled his hand, pointing instead to a large, old tree with a hollow trunk and wide opening at the base. His expression softened, a small smile appearing on his face. “Ah.”

     As they made their way over to it, Eltariel asked, “Do you remember when we would meet here after returning from our assignments? We would share meals and tales of heroic deeds…”

     “And reenact battles of old on the nights we would stay.”

     “And get in trouble the next day for going missing.”

     They stopped at the entrance to the tree, peering inside of the space that had seemed enormous when they were children. Old tally scratch marks, climbing branches, and small, dust covered trinkets remained. Eltariel traced over some of the marks, remembering her younger self scratching them into the trunk after particularly successful assignments. She felt herself genuinely smile again, surprised at the joy it had brought her. Such a small thing, and yet something she never knew she would miss so much. Haldir watched her, unable to stop himself from smiling as well.

     “It was a long time ago…” he began, smile faltering and eyes turning sad. “Before you left.”

      “Eltariel, wait!” Haldir shouted, chasing after her as they neared the border of Lothlórien, dodging odd tree limbs and gnarled, above ground roots. “Please, wait!”

     “This doesn’t concern you, Haldir!” she shouted back, finally stopping when open land was in sight again. With a sigh, she turned towards him. “Just go back,” she told him quietly.

     It was the dead of night, and she’d left right as the night patrol had returned, picking an odd spot on the border to take her leave from. Haldir took another step forward defiantly.

     “You leave without a trace in the middle of the night? Without a word? Without saying goodbye?”

     She kept her expression as neutral as she could.

     “I have to do this.”

     “You don’t have to go alone. Whatever it is, all you had to do was ask and I would have come with you.”

     “You wouldn’t abandon your brothers,” Eltariel protested. “You would never leave your home.”

     “Our home—”

     “No. Your home, Haldir.” Haldir looked taken aback at her statement, and she shook her head, trying her best to look indifferent when everything inside of her was screaming at her to stop this charade and just tell him the truth. “I was an outcast, discovered by a young boy and spared by the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn’s pity. Did you ever really believe, deep down, that I had any place here?”

     Haldir stared at her in outraged shock.

     “Of course you do!” he defended. “You have always had a place here. You are our finest warrior, our sharpest scout, my best friend.”

     “A good sword arm, a decent eye, and your… affections are supposed to mean I belong?” She shook her head again. “I need to go.”

     She turned to continue forward, but was shocked when Haldir grabbed her arm, keeping her in place. Despite his desperation, his touch was gentle. He would not keep her there if she had no desire to stay.

     “What aren’t you telling me, Eltariel? This isn’t like you! Ever since you returned from your last assignment, you’ve… changed.”

     He caught the haunted look that glazed over her eyes for a moment before it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a glare.

     “Maybe I’ve decided I’m done wasting my time here. Maybe I’d rather be on my own than spend another minute around you.”

     Eltariel felt her heart break at Haldir’s hurt look, but maintained her glare, and his grip slowly loosened around her arm, until he finally let go.

     “I know you’re lying to me,” he whispered, eyes averted. “I just wish you would tell me why.”

     Eltariel turned away from him as she felt a tear slide down her cheek. She’d promised. She’d promised the Lady she wouldn’t tell anyone, not even… not even Haldir. Everyone had to believe she had left, for their own safety. If word got out one of their own were hunting down the Nazgul, that the threat of Sauron was once again serious, a panic would arise. Word could spread outside, people could get ideas, put their lives and others’ lives in danger. The peace Lothlórien had worked so hard to attain would be shattered in an instant, and they might find themselves caught in a war.

     “Goodbye, Haldir,” Eltariel told him, cursing the slight shake in her voice as she took off, not looking back.

     She shook her head, pushing the memory away and ignoring the tightness in her chest and the burning of her eyes as her expression crumbled. Deep-seated guilt ate away at her, a feeling she definitely didn’t want to revisit at the moment. This, she reminded herself, was why she had fought so hard to lock away her memories of this place. If she were in a battle with a Nazgul, on the verge of defeat or death, and her mind flashed back to a moment like that, or a fonder memory, she would be done for. They served as distractions, weaknesses that made her an easy target. A part of her (that sounded suspiciously like Legolas) urged her not to push Haldir away, but she chose to ignore it. Eltariel reigned her expression into the cool, indifferent mask she had perfected long ago, not quite able to meet his eyes.

     “You’re right. It was a long time ago. I’m… distracting you from your duties as marchwarden. Forgive me,” she told him, stepping away. “I shall take my leave.”

     Before he could stop her, she was out of sight, and Haldir sighed, mentally scolding himself. Whatever assignment Galadriel had sent her on all those years ago had changed her, and reminding her of the past was the last thing he should have done. He quickly headed after the rest of the patrol, distracted for much of the rest of the day, replaying that same memory in his mind and wondering if anything he could have done or said would have made a difference.

Translations

(S): sel nin → my daughter

(S): gwinig → little one

Chapter Text

Hiraeth

     A few days later saw Eltariel sparring with an equally distracted Talion, Aragorn and Boromir watching from the sidelines. The clearing they occupied was close to the center of Caras Galadhon, where a hub of homes and important places lay and where most anyone could observe them from above. They both missed yet another swing, and Talion growled in frustration, standing down.

     “This is pointless,” he told her as she looked to him in confusion. “Your mind is elsewhere, and so is mine. We stand more of a chance at accidentally hurting each other than keeping our skills sharp.”

     She stood down as well, lowering her blades with a sigh.

     “Being back here, it… it brings back many memories,” she admitted. 

     “I know,” Talion told her softly, not oblivious to her far off and sometimes remorseful looks. “But sparring… helps?”

     “I was taught to fight at a young age, and my skills only grew with time. Sparring is usually something I can lose my mind to, but…” Her eyes found Haldir, standing with members of the border guard not too far above them. “There are some things I cannot so easily forget.” Talion and Aragorn followed her gaze with questioning looks while Boromir’s eyes remained fixed on Eltariel, searching for something. Eltariel raised her blades again, eyes returning to Talion. “Now, let us try again.”

     “Are you sure?” he asked worriedly.

     “Yes.”

     Talion sighed, but raised Urfael, falling back into his battle stance. Their movements were not as light and elegant as they’d usually be, but the two still fought with a grace and technique that many elves marveled at as they occasionally stopped to watch. They knew of Eltariel’s skills as a warrior, but many had never seen it with their own eyes. Talion moved with the combined muscle memory of his and Celebrimbor’s fighting techniques, a strange, but highly effective mix of styles that often left opponents guessing. As Talion seemed to settle into a groove, Eltariel found herself growing frustrated, anger weighing down her movements slightly, enough that only a seasoned fighter would notice. Aragorn, Talion, and Boromir frowned at the change. Her feet slipped in the soft soil as she put a little too much behind the swing of her sword, barely managing not to send the blade flying out of her three-fingered grasp.

     “You are fighting angrily, Eltariel,” a graceful voice called from not nearby.

     Talion and Eltariel froze as Galadriel reached them, standing down and greeting her respectfully.

     “Lady Galadriel,” Talion greeted with a slight bow.

     “My Lady,” Eltariel greeted, tone of voice calm, but expression slightly nervous.

     “Your anger slows your movements, blinds your senses. It is not becoming of you to fight in such a way.” She reached out a hand to her, expression unreadable, but eyes requesting. “Shall we take a walk?”

     “Of course,” Eltariel answered after a moment of hesitation. 

     Sheathing her blades, she took Galadriel’s hand, falling in step with her as they left, throwing an apologetic look Talion’s way. The two walked for some time in silence, neither of them speaking until they began the climb up the spiral stairway that led to Galadriel and Celeborn’s chambers.

     “Forgive me for whence last we spoke. My emotions got the better of me.”

     “M-My Lady?” Eltariel asked her, and they stopped on a lower platform.

     Galadriel gave a sad sigh.

     “When I realized what you had done, I was angry, disappointed that you would go against my wishes. You had never done so before, and my words were overly harsh.”

     “I never should have strayed from the mission. My moment of weakness nearly cost me my life, and now… it could cost this world.”

     “You thought you could stop a great evil before it spread. A Ring of Power is a tempting thing.” Galadriel held up Nenya, eyes falling on it briefly before looking back to Eltariel. “Your actions were misguided, but your intentions were noble. Celebrimbor made a compelling argument, but failed to realize he was only at his most powerful with Talion at his side. It is that which cost you.”

     “That still doesn’t excuse my actions. I… I left him to die,” Eltariel whispered remorsefully.

     “And he has forgiven you, has he not?”

     “Yes.”

     Though that didn’t mean that she didn’t still feel angry at herself, ashamed of her actions, questioning her every decision.

     They continued up the stairs, stopping as they reached the platform of the tallest tree, a long familiar sight.

     “I must also apologize for something else.”

     “My Lady, you have nothing to apologize for,” Eltariel insisted. “I owe you almost everything.”

     “Haldir came to me, when you first left us, demanding answers. I gave him none, and he changed, never quite the same as he once was. Like you, he closed himself off to others and put duty above all else. He came to me this morning and asked me about the same things he had then: where you had gone, what you were doing, why it was kept a secret.”

     Eltariel remembered their most recent conversation just a few days ago, unable to keep from reprimanding herself. Coward. Liar. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

     “What did you tell him?”

     “Everything he asked. He knew that the Fellowship was carrying Rings of Power with them, that a threat had appeared in Middle-earth and you were a part of their quest to stop it. There was no reason to keep the information from him any longer. I realized then, that you had changed most of all. You have never been the same since your first assignment on the Nazgûl, and I am to blame.”

     “I knew what I was getting myself into when I took it.”

     “As did I, and when I saw that you were successful, I continued to push you, continued assigning you to them.” She slowly pulled down Eltariel’s hood, gently cradling her face, eyes lingering on faded scars and worry lines with sad eyes. “You are like a daughter to me, and my faith in your abilities blinded me. You were young, and I forced you to mature far before any elleth should have. For that, I ask your forgiveness.”

     Galadriel bowed her head, dropping her hands, and Eltariel gaped, frozen in shock.

     “I… My Lady, please raise your head! It… It is true that the Nazgûl assignments changed me, but without them, I would not have met Talion, would never have discovered the true threat of the Nine. We would not be here now. And even if my social skills need a bit of work now…” she added with a small smile, “You won’t find a better warrior anywhere in Middle-earth.”

     Galadriel raised her head with a small smile of her own.

     “I am glad to see that you have not changed completely.”

     “As am I.” Eltariel bowed her head. “My Lady,” she said in parting.

     “Go well, Eltariel. Your days of rest here are swiftly approaching their end. The next part of your journey… will be fraught with peril.” 

     Eltariel nodded, and the two went their separate ways.

XxX

     The last person Haldir expected to be waiting for him after dinner was Eltariel, their conversation from the previous week still clearly etched in his mind. She was perched on a large branch just above his path, fidgeting with her green and silver tunic as she nervously met his gaze.

     “Can we talk?” she whispered.

     A few moments of silence passed before Haldir responded.

     “Are you going to run again?”

     The question stung, but she understood why he had asked.

     “No.”

     Their eyes stayed locked for what felt like an eternity before Haldir finally nodded.

     “Alright.”

     She hopped down and fell into step with him as they made their way out of the heart of the realm, towards their old familiar meeting place of the hollowed out tree. There was still enough room for both of them to squeeze into it, knees gently bumping and backs pressed slightly into the trunk as they settled. Neither of them spoke for a while, the chirping of crickets, whistling of a gentle breeze, and soft creaking of branches a deceptively peaceful soundtrack to their tense situation.

     “Eltariel,” Haldir said, drawing her gaze away from the old arrowheads and messily carved Sindarin at her feet.

     When she found her words again, she gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

     “I never thought I would see our home again,” she began. “I thought I was going to die at the top of Barad-dûr, that I deserved to. I spent a year reliving some of my worst nightmares almost every day, wallowing in guilt and self-hatred. I…” She swallowed past the lump in her throat to finish her sentence. “I spent so many days wondering if I would ever be able to apologize to you for the night I left.”

     Haldir smiled sadly, laying a gentle hand on her knee in reassurance.

     “The Lady Galadriel told me of your mission, that she made you swear to keep it secret. I should not have pushed you to answer me.”

     “You had every right. I was not acting like myself, and you were concerned. You did not deserve my dismissal or my harsh words. Forgive me, mellon nin.” He squeezed her knee softly, and she let herself breathe a little easier. “What else did she tell you?”

     “She told me you were Mordor bound, and that as the Blade of Galadriel you would become like a ghost to those who once knew you. She said little else.”

     Eltariel frowned, steeling herself for the memory she was about to share.

     “Perhaps it would be easier to start at the beginning…”

      “She is exactly who we need.”

     “She is our daughter, Galadriel!”

     “If not Eltariel, then who, Celeborn? Who else is strong enough to carry this burden? Who else would be willing?”

     “I will not lose another child!”

     Never before had Eltariel heard them argue like that. Night had fallen over Lothlorien, and she did her best to stick to the shadows of the platform she was on. She held in a groan of frustration as the wood creaked under her feet, and the heated discussion she’d been eavesdropping on abruptly stopped. She quickly straightened up and schooled her expression, trying to look as if she’d merely just arrived. Celeborn’s frustration immediately soothed upon seeing her.

     “Sel nin,” he greeted her wearily. “It is late.”

     “I know. I simply…” Came to investigate the rumors that had reached her ears about being sent away on a long and dangerous mission? “Wanted to speak with you. It has been a trying few weeks, and much weighs on me.”

     Celeborn looked over his shoulder at Galadriel, who clutched a metal case in her hands a bit more tightly than necessary, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she replied, “Do not let me keep the two of you.”

     Celeborn followed behind Eltariel as he made his way out of the room. Moonlight lit their path down spiral stairs to the forest floor as they walked in companionable silence for a time. When they were far away from prying eyes and ears, he finally spoke.

     “How much of that did you hear?”

     Eltariel opened and closed her mouth a few times before telling the truth.

     “All of it, my lord.” The irritated huff he gave was matched by a gust of wind that whipped up shimmering leaves of green and gold from the soft mosses, grasses, and soil beneath their feet. “I know you’re worried about me, but I can do it. I can be her Blade!”

     “You do not even know what she will ask of you.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the images of a bloodied and barely breathing Celebrian. “I have lost one daughter. I cannot bear to lose another.”

     As gentle, calloused hands came to hold his, Celeborn finally met Eltariel’s determined gaze.

     “I have always come back, sometimes injured and unwell, but always alive. I’ve trained my whole life for this, to be worthy of this. Whatever the task may be, I promise to accomplish it and come home.”

     Galadriel stood in front of a kneeling Eltariel a few days later, the first signs of sunrise appearing over the golden treetops outside. The duo—along with Celeborn, who was seated on the edge of the bed in his and Galadriel’s chambers—stared at the ornate metal case on the wooden table in the center of the room. The locks on both sides of the case clicked with a delicate flick of Galadriel’s fingers, and she lifted its lid to reveal an emerald green and gold bracer. Four short, golden chains extended from the end of it, holding a pure white rune that shimmered in the faint sunlight. Eltariel stared in awe at the sight.

     “Is that…?”

     “My light. The Light of Eärendil,” Galadriel confirmed, gently picking up the bracer. “I have seen visions of darkness, the return of a great evil on the horizon. In times of need, like now, I call upon only the greatest of warriors to do what many deem impossible. They are my Blades. This honor does not come without sacrifice, however. Those who come into my service must dedicate their lives to the tasks they are given until they are completed. You must leave behind the life you knew, the people you have come to care for, the place you call home. Anything less will hinder your efforts, distract you at the most crucial of moments. Though the price is heavy, it is paid to ensure the survival of our world.”

     Galadriel met Celeborn’s heartbroken eyes from across their chambers, looking away as a long ignored ache made itself known in her heart again.

     “I understand. I am prepared to face what is to come, even if it means…” Eltariel caught Celeborn’s gaze with a sad smile. “Even if it means leaving everything and everyone behind.” She took a deep breath. “I vow to leave behind all that I have and all that I am. I vow to put aside all others and all personal desires. I vow to face any and all challenges that come with courage and honor. I vow to uphold these conditions until the end of my assignment or my death in its pursuit.”

    “Then today, you are reborn. I task you, Eltariel, with hunting the Nazgûl: to distract the Dark Lord and his servants so that any future plans they may have cannot be realized, until the time of their fall is upon us and they are truly vanquished.” Eltariel held out her left hand to Galadriel, who secured the Light of Galadriel on her forearm, golden chains linking around her hand, the shimmering rune sitting comfortably in her palm. “May this light a path through the darkness of Mordor.”

     “I will not rest until the Nine are no more. I will not fail you, my lady.”

     “Then rise, Blade of Galadriel. You know what must be done.”

     “I was desperate to be seen as more than just a poor orphaned child struggling to belong. I felt abandoned and unwanted, pitied and unseen. I wanted to be something more, so I threw myself into training in whatever crossed my path. I learned that tracking, hunting, and fighting were my strengths, and I gave everything to become as skilled as possible in those things. The Blades of Galadriel were fierce warriors of legend that inspired courage and hope in everyone. They were strong, cunning, and brave, things I strived to be. When I learned that a new Blade was going to be chosen, I did everything I could to be the only one Lady Galadriel had her eyes on. Maybe then, I thought, I would be worth something.”

     Haldir couldn’t quite find the words to express how he was feeling, that Eltariel had always been something more to him, to a lot of them, well before her skills outmatched almost everyone in the realm. She had been admired by many, envied even. She was full of grace and strength, focus and determination, mischief and charm. He only wished she could have seen herself in such a way when they were younger.

     Rather than voicing all of this, unsure if it would be welcome at the moment, he instead asked, “What happened next?”

     Eltariel took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, resisting the urge to panic and close up.

     “That is a long tale to tell.”

     “I would like to hear some of it, if you are willing to share, but you do not have to.”

     She held his gaze again, letting the worry, honesty, and care in his eyes calm her as she began to speak. Eltariel told of her time spent in Mordor: learning the lay of the land, navigating orc controlled territories, finding shelter and the best places to hunt and replenish supplies. She would set training goals with orcs as targets, learning to wield the Light of Galadriel with efficiency and using it as both a weapon and a tool. She could blind her opponents as a distraction or escape tactic. She could set traps, glyphs of light that ignited upon contact. She could blast orcs back with sheer force or fell them with smaller, more precise beams of light.

     When she felt confident enough to test those tactics in a true battle against the Nazgûl, they worked quite well. Though none of the battles were easy, Eltariel continued defeating and banishing them for years, thwarting whatever plans they began before they could recover and regroup. For a time, she felt as if she was making a difference. It wasn’t until the fall of Minas Ithil that she began to question if her efforts had meant anything at all.

     She told of the times her and Talion’s paths had crossed in pursuit of the Nazgûl and their servants, things the pair had shared several times already to Elrond and others in the Fellowship. When she reached the point of her story where she awoke in chains at the top of Barad-dûr, she stopped, blinking away some of the worst of her memories. The nightmares came less often now, but they still plagued her. She told of her awakening in Mordor after Talion rescued her, the hospitality of Nurn’s orcs, the rabbit stew that shouldn’t have tasted as good as it did, the beginning of her spiral into guilt that ate away at her every waking moment. She told of her newfound friendship with Talion, their fresh start on the journey to Rivendell and the long needed conversation that followed. An account of their trip through Moria had Haldir bowing his head at the mention of Gandalf’s passing. She finished with a brief retelling of her conversation with Galadriel a few days previous before falling silent, hands rubbing anxiously at the rough, aged wood beneath her fingertips.

     Haldir’s soft, calloused grip stilled one of them, and he gazed thoughtfully at their loosley locked hands.

     “I miss the days of our youth when the world and its people were simpler. I miss your free spirit and the years when you weren’t weighed down by the heavy burden on your shoulders. But I am glad we are both here now, as we are, despite everything that has happened.”

     With a shaky and relieved breath, she told him, “As am I.”

     Eltariel intertwined their fingers over a crude carving of the two of them as children, which drew laughs out of both of them. He rubbed lightly over the stumps where her ring and pinky fingers used to be as a companionable silence fell over them.

     “I have missed you, Eltariel. I do not plan to let you exit my life so easily this time.”

     “I will let you know when we are leaving,” she promised, “And I’ll be back before you can even begin to miss me.”

XxX

     “—can’t believe they expect me to eat this, this…”

     “Ah. Is our “rabbit food” not to your liking, master dwarf?” Legolas quipped, hiding a smirk behind his water goblet at having hidden the last of the meat portions from sight.

     “See here, you!”

     Legolas and Gimli’s banter had turned friendly as of late, their normally angry, resentful statements now lighthearted and teasing. This would usually get a chuckle or at least a snort out of one of the hobbits, but none were found that night around the otherwise quiet wooden table in one of the larger guest dwellings. Hanging lanterns bathed the room in shades of gold and copper, but there was no warmth in the colors. Instead, a melancholy chill accompanied the crestfallen, twisted shadows that the light cast against the walls, inviting an atmosphere of despair rather than comfort. It had been a little over three weeks since the Fellowship had arrived in Lothlorien, but a spectre of grief still clung to its members. 

     Boromir rolled his eyes, grabbing the plates of drumsticks and seared meats from next to his seat and sliding them across the table towards the fussy dwarf. He then turned his attention to the hobbits, to Frodo and Pippin in particular: Frodo, who had been the closest of the four to Gandalf and Pippin, who had a bit more trouble processing his grief as the youngest of the bunch. Frodo seemed to be holding back tears, as he often was nowadays, fiddling with the chain around his neck, the One Ring just below the collar of his shirt and out of sight. Boromir quickly tore his eyes away, feeling the slightest hint of a familiar tug towards it. Pippin was anxiously fidgeting with whatever was within reach, tapping his spoon incessantly against the table with one hand and scratching back and forth along the grooves in its wooden surface with the other. He had been quiet and withdrawn, the complete opposite of his usual bright, infectious, outgoing personality.

     “It will be alright, little ones,” Boromir murmured comfortingly to the hobbits. The four looked to him with sad and confused expressions as he continued. “We will get through this. It will be alright.”

     Being an older brother came with experience soothing and comforting a distressed younger sibling through the big and small things, grief among them. He could not take their pain away or make them stop missing Gandalf, but he could at least alleviate their worries about what lay ahead. They would get through this period of mourning. They would continue on to Mordor, and everything would be alright. Everything would work out, the One Ring would be destroyed, and they would all be able to go home. It will be alright.

     If he said it enough times, Boromir was sure he could come to believe the words himself. Until then, he would be strong for them, especially when Aragorn and Talion weren’t there. Aragorn was out clearing his head in preparation for their upcoming departure and Talion was dining with Eltariel, the two taking time to catch up with each other after an eventful week.

     “Have you ever lost someone close before, Boromir?”

     Merry’s question startled him out of his thoughts, and he nodded at the hobbit with a bittersweet smile.

     “Yes. My mother. She died when I was very young. I can hardly remember her face now, but I remember the way she would sing me to sleep at night, how she soothed my father with little more than a word or look, the days where we would go horseback riding through the fields around my home, taking in the beauty all around us.” He sighed, blinking away tears. “I miss her every day. When I was old enough to truly understand grief, the days were hard for a while.”

     “What made them easier?” Sam asked, joining the conversation.

     “My brother,” Boromir answered fondly. “I was sad that Mother was gone, sadder still that Faramir would never get to know her as I did. But I knew he did not need my sadness. He needed to know and feel that he was loved, especially with how angry and cold our father became after her passing. More than anything, those who have lost a loved one need the reminder that there is still plenty of love around them and for them, even when the love of someone special is gone.”

     “I don’t think their love is ever really gone.” The group looked to Legolas, who addressed Boromir with a deep sense of understanding. “It lives on within us, within our words and actions and everyday walks of life. It’s harder to notice sometimes, but it is always there. You simply need to know where to look.”

     A weight seemed to lift from the group at that. It will be alright. Gandalf’s love will endure in all of them, carried every step of the way on the rest of their journey. It will be alright. Those words, Boromir believed.

XxX

     Rays of sunlight danced merrily through the sparkling canopy of Lothlórien, shimmering gold foliage stretching up and out as far as the eye could see. Talion was leaning against the railing of the balcony outside one of the Fellowships guest quarters, taking in the fresh, cool air of the afternoon. The New Ring shone brightly in the sunlight, hanging down from around his neck as he let his eyes wander, lingering on nothing in particular.

      We sense your fear, Ranger, your doubt. Soon, the light that you so desperately cling to will fall to darkness. You and the Ring will belong to the Dark Lord.

     The carefully crafted wood beneath Talion’s hands creaked under his iron grip, Isildur’s Ring glowing a harsh scarlet against the soft brown surface.

      Your friends will fall one by one, like the wizard before them. And when you are alone once more, when you have nothing left, you will finally take your rightful place as one of the Nine.

     “I will never join you.”

     A sinister laugh was all he got in response, the sound of splintering wood following soon after. Talion looked down at his hands, which now closely resembled pincushions. He sighed, taking a step back and examining the damage he’d done.

     “Do they speak to you often?”

     Talion turned around to find Aragorn looking on from the doorway, brows furrowed in concern.

     “More than I’d like,” he admitted.

     “I’m sorry that the Rings trouble you so.”

     Talion frowned, shaking his head.

     “If it isn’t the Witch-king of Angmar, then it is Sauron himself.” He curled his lips in disgust. “They mock me, and say that it is pointless for me to fight a battle that they’ve already won.”

     Talion tried and failed to bat Aragorn’s hands away as he plucked splinters and small chunks of wood from his palms and fingers.

     “They are foolish to underestimate you, to underestimate all of us.” A few minutes passed before either of them spoke again, Aragorn rubbing a pleasant smelling salve across Talion’s cuts as he finished his work. “What does Celebrimbor have to say about all of this?”

     “That he has complete faith in us… and that we need to be on our guard. Saruman has been breeding an army of orcs in Isengard, and their numbers are great. There is no telling how far they’ve spread.”

     “He thinks they may guard our path once we leave here?”

     “To reinforce those that are already roaming freely,” Talion confirmed, worry curling in his gut as he added, “when they’re not swarming settlements and fortresses in Mordor.”

     An uncomfortable silence fell between them as Aragorn processed the new information and Talion thought about what this new orc army meant for Mordor. He tried not to let himself dwell on how overwhelmed his forces might be and what kind of state each region could be in, knowing he would only stew about it and make the growing feeling of helplessness in himself even worse. Aragorn knew exactly where his thoughts were headed. He laid a comforting hand on one of Talion’s shoulders.

     “Their situation may not be favorable, but it isn’t impossible,” he told Talion gently. “Trust in your allies as they trust in you.”

     The pair went inside and sat across from each other at a small, out of the way table. They simply enjoyed each other’s company for a time, various members of the Fellowship coming in and out of the guest quarters for the rest of the afternoon and greeting them in passing. Soon, the sun was beginning its descent in the sky, blue giving way to pinks and yellows and purples. Aragorn was smoking a pipe, the strong, earthy smell pulling Talion from his thoughts.

     “You only smoke when you have too much on your mind.” Talion caught his eyes, heart aching at the all too familiar longing he saw in them. “And that is a look I know well.”

     Aragorn huffed around the end of the pipe handle, blowing a small ring of smoke and slowly lowering it from his lips.

     “How can you bear to be separated from the one you love most under such dire circumstances, when the threat of death lurks around every corner, follows your every step?”

     A stray beam of sunlight caught the Evenstar, a rainbow of color lighting up the table between them in a heart-like shape. The New Ring glowed faintly beneath his armor, and if Talion closed his eyes and concentrated enough, he could almost feel Celebrimbor sitting next to him: their knees gently bumping, the warmth of a hand in his, the low rumbling of his voice—

     “There is an intimateness in two souls being bound together for so long that’s hard to explain,” Talion began. “Thoughts and feelings flowed freely between us. Purposely or not, we came to know each other inside and out. The vulnerability that came with being bound was… relieving, in a way. When words failed, we could share emotions, memories, images. And when the days grew long and harsh, we could simply just… be, as one.” His hand squeezed around empty air, jarring him back to reality. “For the last year, I have felt hollow, like a piece of me is missing. I long for him more than anything, sometimes to the point where it drowns out everything else. I bear that pain because I know, one day, we will see each other again. This world will be safer, and that pain will have been worth it.” He smiled sadly. “I have seen the way you and Arwen are with each other. If you are worried, a love as deep as that is not so easily broken by distance or time.”

     Aragorn brought the pipe back to his lips, eyes fixed on a particular spot on the floor. He inhaled deeply, letting out a long, slow plume of smoke that almost seemed to settle like a dark cloud over his head. He struggled to get his words out for a moment.

     “She would give up her immortality for me, Talion,” he whispered in disbelief. “She would defy her father, leave her people behind, her life behind… for me. I, who let Frodo get stabbed by a Morgul Blade at Weathertop. I, who could not protect the halflings at the Ford of Bruinen. I, who helped lead Gandalf to a fiery death in Moria.” He took a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heart. “A man who flees from his destiny out of fear that he cannot live up to it.”

     “A man blaming himself for not being perfect,” Talion countered with great conviction. “Try as you might, you cannot prevent all tragedies. Frodo and the halflings live, and Gandalf… Gandalf willingly gave his life so that we could escape, and his influence is felt even now in the ways that his counsel and bright spirit continue to guide us. Arwen would choose a mortal life with you because she knows what kind of man you are: a man who loves and leads his people in spite of fear, doubt, and danger.”

     “I…”

     “You are my friend, and my king.” This drew Aragorn’s gaze back to Talion. “I, and the rest of the Fellowship, would follow you to the ends of Middle-earth. Because we believe in you , not the flawless hero of legend you may wish to be.” He smirked. “Trust in your allies as they trust in you.”

     Aragorn leveled a heatless, teasing glare at Talion for using his own words against him. He stowed his pipe in a pocket as the last of the pipeweed burned away, smiling fondly.

     “You always know what to say when my self-confidence wavers.”

     “It is only what I know I would want to hear were our places reversed.”

     Echoes of conversation filtered into the room from the staircase below, accompanied by overlapping footsteps and deep laughter. Merry and Pippin were riding on Boromir’s back, the man overdramatically dragging his feet and stumbling under their weight as they “attacked” him. Gimli guffawed as Eltariel and Sam gave them battle tips, Frodo and Legolas looking on in amusement. When he was through the doorway, Boromir pitched forward, falling face first onto the stiff wooden floor with a fake groan of pain and defeat.

     “With one more powerful strike, the hobbits felled the mighty cave troll, its thud echoing throughout the Shire as the fighting finally died down to a once more peaceful quiet,” Frodo narrated, grinning as Merry and Pippin stood atop Boromir in triumph, shouting and stamping their feet in victory.

     “There was a loud celebration that night as drinks flowed and new songs were sung about the pair of valiant heroes dancing on tabletops and recounting their tale. All in the land would come to know of their deeds,” Eltariel added.

     “And they lived happily ever after, right?” Pippin asked, receiving several laughs in response.

     “Except the poor cave troll whose back you’ve been dancing on,” Aragorn answered with a grin.

     Merry and Pippin leapt off of Boromir with hasty apologies and Talion went to help him up as he heard several vertebrae pop back into place. Aragorn felt his nervousness from earlier slowly drain out of his heart, the joy in the room reminding him that even in times of great darkness, there was hope to be found.

XxX

     At the end of a long month’s rest, the Fellowship prepared to row down the waters of the river Anduin out of Lothlórien on their way to Amon Hen. They mourned still, but were in noticeably higher spirits, calmed, assured, and determined. To every member, Galadriel gave a gift and parting words, each with their own significance and purpose. Legolas received a bow of the Galadhrim, Merry and Pippin blades of the Noldorin. To Gimli, who gazed upon her with great reverence and admiration, she gifted him three of her hairs instead of the one he had asked for. To Sam, she gave a bundle of elven rope and a nut from a Mallorn tree to plant in his garden in the Shire, and to Frodo a phial containing the Light of Eärendil. To Boromir, she gave a belt of gold not found anywhere else on Middle-earth, and to Aragorn she had no gift greater than anything he already possessed, eyes lingering on the Evenstar as she told him so. Eltariel had declined a gift, simply showing the Light of Galadriel and bowing her head, and Galadriel respected her decision. At last she reached Talion, who had bowed to her respectfully before meeting her eyes.

     “And what gift would you ask of me, Ranger of the Black Gate?” 

     Talion sighed, shaking his head.

     “I know not what to ask for, nor what is within your power to grant me.”

     She smiled softly at him.

     “Then I give you this.” She held out a small bound journal, preserved by magic, a likeness of holly etched on its cover. “It came into my possession from Rivendell, recovered from Eregion’s remains after its demise. It is his.”

     Talion took it reverently, opening it and seeing familiar elegant handwriting, hand drawn maps, sketches and designs for weapons and crafts. He looked to her gratefully.

     “I couldn’t ask for anything greater. Thank you.”

     Many had come to see them off, gathered around them by the lake or looking on from balconies. As the Fellowship began filing into boats, Eltariel turned back, finding Haldir. He smiled sadly as she stopped in front of him, not quite sure what to say.

     “Go in peace, mellon nin. We shall see each other again.”

     She matched his smile, nodding, her next, familiar words now spoken bittersweetly rather than in heartbreaking sorrow.

     “Goodbye, Haldir.”

     Eltariel climbed into a boat with Talion, Frodo and Sam with Aragorn, Merry and Pippin with Boromir, and Gimli with Legolas. Galadriel’s soothing, beautiful voice accompanied them on their departure, and she silently wished them well as they headed towards the place where temptation, separation, and death awaited them.

Chapter Text

The Breaking of the Fellowship

     For several days, the Fellowship traveled along the river Anduin, barely speaking a word. Though their last few days in Lothlórien had restored some of their hope, the perils and worries of their continued journey began to plague them once more. Several nights had been fraught with unease, one in particular leading to a heated discussion between Boromir and Aragorn about where to head next. Boromir argued that going to Minas Tirith would give them another chance to regroup and resupply, a strong point of attack, and an army of soldiers with which to strike Mordor. Aragorn told him he refused to let the Ring go anywhere near Minas Tirith, for the safety of all involved, and despite Boromir’s protests, the conversation ended soon after.

     It was a few nights later, when the rest of the Fellowship was fast asleep—after a rough and tiring day of fighting rapids and turning around to find alternate routes forward—that Talion and Boromir engaged in conversation. Everyone was scattered along the shore around a fire that burned brightly in the darkness of night, the gentle, quiet rushing of water a welcome and soothing sound. The ground was comfortable enough, soft dirt and short grasses a big improvement from the rocky surfaces of Moria or the uneven, root and branch covered area leading to Lothlórien. Talion had been staring up at the stars for a little while, arms tucked underneath his head as he lay next to the river. His gaze was drawn back downward at the sound of frantic shuffling. Boromir wore a troubled expression, blinking away a nightmare with watery eyes and panicked breathing.

     “Are you alright?” Talion asked him quietly.

     Boromir sat up with a deep sigh, rubbing furiously at his eyes as he tried to banish the last of the images from his fitful sleep.

     “I am fine,” he answered rather unconvincingly. 

     “You had a nightmare,” Talion observed as he sat up as well, and Boromir looked to him with an unreadable expression. “I’ve had enough of my own to know the signs. What troubles you?”

     Boromir searched Talion’s eyes in the pale moonlight, for pity or perhaps even mockery. When all he found was genuine concern, he sighed again, relenting.

     “I did,” Boromir admitted after a few moments of hesitation. “You remember when I told you about my father wanting Isildur’s Bane, sending me to the Council instead of my brother Faramir?” Talion nodded. “Faramir… He has visions every so often, and they have never been wrong. Before I left Minas Tirith, I spent much of the day in his company, and he seemed… haunted. He refused to tell me what he saw, only pleading with me to promise I would return home alive.” He paused as he heard Faramir’s voice, as clear as if he were next to him right then and there.

      Promise me, brother. Promise me you will return. I do not think I could bear it if you…

     “I promised him I would, and yet his terror has continued to weigh on my mind all journey. As we travel further down the river, it becomes worse. I can’t help but feel…”

     Talion nodded in understanding.

     “You feel the peril approaching.”

     Boromir nodded in confirmation.

     “I know not what it is, only that it may lead to an unfortunate end.”

     “For who?” Boromir didn’t answer for a moment. “Boromir?”

     “For me. An unfortunate end for me.” The two were silent as the words hung heavy in the air between them. “I cannot do that to him,” Boromir whispered, voice shaking.

     “You care greatly for him,” Talion noticed. 

     “He means the world to me,” Boromir told him, and Talion could hear how deeply true his words were, realizing something.

     “Is that why you’ve been trying to get us to go to Minas Tirith?”

     “Yes. I made a promise that I intend to keep.”

     “And the One Ring?”

     Boromir stiffened at that.

     “What of it?”

     “I have seen the way you look at it, Boromir. I have seen how you look between Frodo and I with want.”

     “You think I don’t know that?” Boromir hissed in frustration, a bit too loudly, and the pair looked nervously towards Merry and Pippin sleeping close by. Pippin shifted in his sleep, but didn’t wake. They both let out relieved breaths before Boromir continued, voice less heated. “I have seen the effects of a Ring, in you and in Frodo, in myself… Even now, your Ring whispers to me in one ear while Frodo’s whispers in the other. There are some days where I think I may go mad…”

     After a moment of contemplation, Talion held up the hand that housed Isildur’s Ring, extending it towards Boromir. Boromir’s eyes were drawn to it immediately, his own hand twitching at his side in desire. Isildur’s Ring glowed ominously at his hungry gaze, and his eyes went wide when they fell on Talion’s now transformed face. He gasped in alarm, arm smacking against the paddle laying beside him as he jumped in shock.

     “Were you to take either of our Rings, you would become unrecognizable, even to yourself, especially to yourself.” They both grimaced at the ominous, warped echo to his voice, and Talion sighed. Boromir looked straight into his crimson eyes, seeing flashes of the other Nazgûl Talion had fought in the past, seeing their pasts before they received Rings. Talion looked to him sadly as Boromir came back to awareness. “I understand the initial distrust you and Gimli showed  me at the start of this journey. I ask again that you don’t make the same mistake that I did. While I wouldn’t take my choice back, and as noble as my intentions were, this Ring could be my undoing.” 

     “My will is not like yours,” Boromir told him, averting his eyes. “Nor Frodo’s or Aragorn’s. I have not the strength that the three of you do. You saw for yourself at the Council in Rivendell. My good intentions were used against me. What if you aren’t there to stop me again?”

     “Then think of Faramir,” Talion told him. “Would Faramir want you to take the Rings, knowing the risks? Would he want to see you like this?” he asked, gesturing to himself. “Would those you love most want to see you fall to darkness?”

     Boromir let out a harsh breath, shaking his head when words failed him. It was a few long moments before he spoke again.

     “And who do you think of when the darkness closes in?”

     Talion smiled softly.

     “I remember my wife, my son, my friends. And when I feel as if the Ring might consume me completely… I think of him.”

     “Him?”

     “The one I love. Celebrimbor.”

     Boromir’s eyes widened in recognition of the name, but he didn’t speak about it. Stranger things had happened as of late.

     Talion hesitated, his hand freezing halfway towards his chest. Should he show Boromir, when two Rings of Power were already enough to affect him so? Boromir noticed the hand that was reaching up and Talion’s hesitation.

     “The chain around your neck. Was it his?”

     Talion relaxed, lowering his hand back down to his side.

     “Yes. It’s one of the only things I have left of him. It keeps us connected, in every sense of the word.” He felt the New Ring, warm against his skin, and a phantom pair of arms wrapping around him from behind. He smiled softly as he felt the darkness slowly recede from him. Boromir watched his features slowly return to normal, and the next time he looked into Talion’s eyes they were their usual deep blue. Talion still saw uneasiness in his gaze, and couldn’t help the words that left him next. “Whatever fear it is that weighs on your mind will not come to pass, I swear to you.”

     Boromir didn’t know how to respond for a few minutes.

     He finally nodded, and said, “Thank you, Talion. Perhaps, when our journey is complete, I can show you around Minas Tirith. I’m sure much has changed in the time you’ve been away from it.”

     Boromir noticed the way Talion’s eyes lit up hopefully at that. Never in his wildest dreams did Talion ever think he would step foot in Gondor again, and the thought of seeing the city in all of its glory now… Boromir smiled slightly at that, and Talion smiled back.

     “I’d like that.”

XxX

     A strange, unsettling feeling fell over the Fellowship the next day. While their journey by boat had been uneventful thus far, worry was ever present within them. For a few brief moments, however, awe replaced it as they passed through the Gates of Argonath: proud stone likenesses as tall as the eye could see of two great kings of old. On one side stood Anárion, High King of Gondor, and on the other stood his brother, Isildur, High King of Arnor.

     “The sons of Elendil,” Talion murmured in reverence.

     Everyone was amazed at the sight, unable to help from smiling as they gazed upon them, and it seemed as if they had just taken their first worry free breaths since leaving Lothlórien. Later, in the early afternoon, they stopped at the shore of Amon Hen to rest for the day. They would leave out again at nightfall, under the safety and cover of darkness, Aragorn reasoned, to approach Mordor from the north. Gimli didn’t take too kindly to that idea, not particularly keen on having to navigate Emyn Muil, or miles upon miles of marshland. Aragorn wouldn’t budge on his decision, and Gimli was left quietly grumbling as Aragorn turned his attention to a concerned looking Legolas.

     “We should leave now,” he told Aragorn in a hushed voice.

     “No,” Aragorn replied. “Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness.”

     “It is not orcs that concern us,” Eltariel told him, she and Talion joining their sides.

     “A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near. I can feel it,” Legolas insisted.

     “As can I,” Talion agreed. “It is dark, dangerous, and moves quickly against us.”

     Aragorn sighed, but remained steadfast in his decision.

     “I understand, but there is too much risk of moving in daylight. I would not have us caught in a large battle without the cover of darkness to aid our escape. We await nightfall.”

     They all wore defeated expressions at the tone of finality in Aragorn’s voice, but dropped the issue.

     “If you think it best, Aragorn,” Legolas replied.

     The rest of the day became increasingly tense, uneasiness growing in everyone and clogging the previously restful and relaxed atmosphere. Boromir was fidgeting, plucking at his vambraces in agitation. The whispers from Isildur’s Ring and the One Ring had only gotten louder and more insistent the further from Rivendell they traveled. Today, it was almost unbearably loud in his ears as the Rings took turns testing his resolve.

      There is greatness within you, Boromir, son of Denethor. It lies just out of your reach. But with the power of a Ring…

      Your courage and strength, your skill on the battlefield, is being wasted. Imagine the sight you would make at the White Tower wearing my masterpiece.

     Boromir gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block the voices out to no avail.

      Talion and the halfling do not understand the power they wield. You have seen visions of victory, the prospering of your homeland, an end to suffering.

      You could be the leader that your father never was. You could take his position as Steward and usher in a new era for Gondor. None would dare oppose you.

     No. He could never…

     Could he?

     No! The Rings were not his to bear—

      Why should a noble ranger and a humble halfling have to suffer the fates they do? Why should they endure more horrors than they already have, taken from their homes and thrust into the unknown? Why not lift that weight from their shoulders?

      Why should your companions suffer needlessly when you could bear the burdens that were never theirs to have? This is a chance for the captain of Gondor to show his quality, to save his friends. Isn’t that what your brother would want from you?

     Boromir jerked, suddenly jumping to his feet, startling a few of his companions. He tried his best to get his breathing back under control, hands clenching and unclenching around empty air in an attempt to regain feeling in them after being paralyzed by uncertainty. He caught Frodo’s worried stare from across their makeshift camp and quickly tore his eyes away.

     “I… I’m…”

     He abruptly took off before anyone could ask him questions, needing to be as far away from Talion and Frodo as possible. The group exchanged confused glances, but said nothing. Boromir, more than any of them, had been short-tempered and on edge. No one was eager to get in an argument with him at the moment.

     Talion made his way over to Frodo a few minutes later. The hobbit had situated himself away from the group, sat on a large overturned log, worrying the One Ring between his fingers. Talion gasped as his vision swam for a moment. 

     A furious Celebrimbor thrust a dagger into one of Sauron’s shoulders with all of his might, an agonized scream echoing in the dark space around them. He snarled viciously, eyes flashing an unnatural shade of blue as he leaned down next to Sauron’s ear with a harsh declaration.

      You are nothing without your servants and your trinkets. You will fall like your master before you and vengeance will. Be. Mine.

     Talion furiously blinked away the heated scene, shivering at the all too familiar coldness in his lover's voice. Frodo looked up as he heard him approach, the sound of crunching leaves and branches grating to his ears in the otherwise uncomfortable silence. His expression flashed briefly to panic before calming again.

     “May I?” Talion asked with a tight smile, gesturing beside Frodo. 

     “Of course,” Frodo told him, and Talion sat down with a heavy sigh, taking in the hobbit’s defeated posture and listless expression.

     “So, you’ve decided you want to continue alone?”

     Frodo looked to him wide-eyed at that.

     “How did you—”

     “I can feel it. Your dread and guilt are not so easily contained. But are you sure that’s what you want? You know that we’re all willing to see this through to the very end.”

     “I know…” Frodo whispered sadly, “And that’s why I have to do this alone. I could never forgive myself if something happened to anyone else. We’ve already lost Gandalf. The world can’t afford to lose you, or Aragorn, or the rest of the Fellowship.”

     Talion smiled sadly at that.

     “You have a kind and pure heart, Frodo. I can think of no one better to do this task than you… But think about this more, please . This doesn’t have to be where we part ways. Let us help you. Let us be there for you.”

     Frodo’s heartbroken expression only confirmed to Talion that he would not be changing his mind, and he bowed his head in defeat.

     “I’ll think about it,” Frodo told him, getting to his feet. ”I just… need some time to myself.”

     “Of course,” Talion told him. “Don’t stray too far.”

     Frodo nodded, and Talion briefly entered the Wraith World to watch his trail of bright footsteps disappear into the trees. He shook his head, dismayed at Frodo’s answer, rejoining the rest of the Fellowship. He sat next to Eltariel, who was sharpening her sword with a faraway look in her eyes.

     “How is he?” she asked.

     “Determined to be alone,” Talion answered. “He does not want another life lost.”

     “We all knew there were life and death risks on this journey.”

     “He would not hear it. He headed off saying he wanted more time to think about it.”

     Eltariel hummed worriedly, putting her sword down and looking to Talion.

     “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

     Talion shook his head.

     “I don’t know.”

     Meanwhile, Frodo paced restlessly in an area surrounded by trees with a stone staircase at its center, the remains of some ancient structure long since fallen into ruin. He knew what he needed to do, but how would he leave without anyone seeing him? Should he wait until night drew nearer? He was startled out of his thoughts as he ran into Boromir, who was doing some pacing of his own, the murmuring under his breath stopping when he realized he had company.

     “None of us should wander alone, least of all you, Frodo.” Frodo looked to him warily, but Boromir approached calmly, peacefully, expression worried. “I know why you seek solitude. You suffer. I see it, day by day. Are you sure it isn’t needlessly?”

     Frodo’s gaze turned piercing and defensive.

     “I know what you might say. It would seem like wisdom were it not for the warning in my heart.”

     Boromir looked to him in genuine confusion.

     “A warning? Against what?”

     Frodo walked around him, trying to put some space between them should the worst happen.

     “I know that you desire the Ring. I know you wish to take it to Minas Tirith, but there is no other way! It must be destroyed!”

     Boromir’s expression changed to that of despair.

     “I ask only for the strength to defend my people,” he whispered desperately. “I have no desire to see anyone driven to madness by the Ring’s lies, least of all you.” Frodo stumbled back a few steps as Boromir approached, and Boromir stopped at his reaction. “Why do you recoil?”

     “Because you are not yourself!” Frodo shouted, starting to feel panic bubble within him.

     “Not myself? It may seem that way to you, but my words are entirely my own.”

      He is beyond reason. You are only trying to protect him, to save him. You could save all of them…

     A new image came to Boromir as his eyes once again settled on the One Ring.

      Himself leading the armies of Gondor through the Black Gate and decimating Sauron’s army. The Fellowship, safe and whole, gathered in Minas Tirith, the weight of their journey lifted from them, especially Talion and Frodo. Faramir, gazing at him with unbridled wonderment, the two of them taking Denethor’s place at the head of the table in the Citadel. They toasted with cups of ale, the clink! of their goblets echoing around the hall.

     “Remember this day, little brother. This is our day of triumph!”

     “No! I will not take it. I will not!”

     Boromir cried out and fell to his knees as he half lunged forward and half tried to hold himself back. He pounded the ground in anguish, at the ravenous desire trying to drown out everything else within him and the very idea that Frodo was afraid of him, afraid that he would hurt him. Frodo jumped back in terror, but couldn’t help the way his chest seized at Boromir’s voice.

     “B-Boromir?”

     “You must run. You must take it and run!” His wild eyes glistened with unshed tears as he slowly looked up from the ground. “I swore to protect you, and so I must protect you from myself! Take the Ring and end this nightmare once and for all. Go!”

     Frodo saw the remorse and the horror in Boromir’s gaze, knowing in his racing heart, despite his terror, that Boromir did not wish to harm him. He nodded, sliding the One Ring on his finger and disappearing from sight. He ran as fast as he could up the stone stairs and away from the area, hurried footsteps growing quieter until silence fell again. Boromir felt hot tears run down his cheeks as he choked on a sob, guilt and despair eating him alive.

     “I’m so sorry, Frodo,” he whispered brokenly.

XxX

     Talion hissed as he felt a chilling darkness, entering the Wraith World and catching sight of Frodo running away from a kneeling Boromir.

     “Talion?”

     He didn’t answer Eltariel as he leapt to his feet, and she followed close behind him as he sprinted through the trees, following Boromir’s trail of footsteps. Aragorn had everyone else split off into pairs to search the area, he himself following in the direction Talion had gone, Sam trying to keep up with him. Merry and Pippin went one direction while Legolas and Gimli went another. Talion left the Wraith World as he and Eltariel stopped, taking in the sight of a distraught Boromir kneeling in the brush, staring down at his hands in horror.

     "Boromir!" Talion exclaimed, crouching down beside him. "What happened? Where's Frodo?"

     "Gone. H-He's gone." Boromir’s voice shook, eyes full of remorse, staring off unfocusedly.

     "Gone? What do you mean gone?" Eltariel questioned.

     "I… I almost tried to take the Ring," Boromir answered in shame. "I told him to run."

     "Did you hurt him?" Talion asked.

     Boromir shook his head furiously.

     "No! No, I… I stopped before I could, but…"

      But what if I hadn’t? What if I hadn’t been strong enough?

     He got to his feet, trying to take a deep breath.

     "I don't know where he went."

     "We need to find him. There’s no telling what dangers he might run into by himself,” Eltariel insisted.

     Talion nodded, entering the Wraith World again and searching the area, eyes landing on a new set of bright footsteps.

     “This way,” Talion told them, and Boromir and Eltariel followed closely behind him.

     Ahead of them, Frodo, still cloaked by the One Ring, continued running, pausing only when flashes of Mordor filled his vision. An army of orcs at the foot of Barad-dûr gave way to a red, flaming eye, its hissed whispers of Black Speech making his skin crawl. An overwhelming sense of terror and panic filled him, and he quickly took the Ring off, tumbling off the stone structure he’d been hiding on and landing roughly in the grass and dirt below. 

     “Frodo?”

     He looked up to see a concerned Aragorn a few feet away.

     Talion gasped as the three of them closed in, the silver forms of Frodo and Aragorn filling his vision as his ears caught their words, distant and as if underwater, but audible nonetheless.

      “I would have gone with you to the end… into the great fires of Mordor.”

     “I know… Look after the others, especially Sam. He will not understand.”

     Aragorn looked like he wanted to say something else, but his gaze was drawn to the eerie blue at Frodo’s hip. He drew his sword as he backed away to his feet. Frodo drew Sting to see it glowing fiercely.

     “Run!”

     “Hurry,” Talion told them, sprinting ahead again.

     Aragorn turned around, greeted by the sight of a small army of Saruman’s new and improved Uruk-hai. He took a deep breath, holding his sword confidently as they rushed him.

     The sounds of battle drew the ears of the rest of the Fellowship, all of them immediately changing direction as a dark, furious shout of, “Find the halflings!” echoed through the trees. Talion, Eltariel, and Boromir finally reached Aragorn, arrows of light piercing several enemies at once and swords slicing cleanly through whatever was in their way.

     “Aragorn, go!” Eltariel shouted, another light arrow slaying three approaching orcs with ease.

     The trio held that enemy group at bay as Aragorn rushed after Frodo, slaying any who dared try and lay their hands on him. Frodo stumbled behind a large tree, hidden from the sight of passing orcs. Merry and Pippin, who had been heading that direction, called to Frodo from across the path, hiding behind fallen trees and tall vegetation.

     “Frodo! Hide here, quick!” Pippin whisper-shouted as Merry gestured furiously their way.

     Frodo looked to them and shook his head, heartbroken, knowing he couldn’t do as they asked. Pippin didn’t understand why he wasn’t moving, but Merry put the pieces together.

     “He’s leaving,” Merry realized, and Pippin’s eyes went wide before he burst out of his hiding spot, refusing to let Frodo go on without them. Merry tried to pull him back out of sight, but it was too late as more orcs swarmed the area. Thunderous steps shook the ground, the sound of metal against metal meeting the crack! of bones, the thud! of bodies against tree trunks, the snap! of branches trampled underfoot. Merry sorrowfully met Frodo’s terrified gaze before determination filled his eyes. “Run, Frodo!” he told him as he and Pippin turned their attention to the enemy. 

     They shouted to get their attention, running in the opposite direction to lead them away. Frodo looked after them until they all disappeared from sight, closing his eyes to hold back tears before setting out again.

     Aragorn reunited with Legolas and Gimli, the three surrounded but still holding their own fairly well. Merry and Pippin had led the horde a fair distance away before their large ranks cut off any chance of escape. The two found themselves trapped, back to back and frozen in fear. Just as all hope seemed lost, Boromir appeared with a battle cry, halting an enemy’s mace and piercing its gut with his blade. Eltariel and Talion weren’t far behind, swords drawn and welcoming a fight. Merry and Pippin drew their own blades, keeping close to Boromir as they put their training to use. Even with the added numbers, however, the five were severely outnumbered, and so Boromir raised the Horn of Gondor to his lips and blew as loud as he could the first opportunity he had.

     Across the forest, Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas froze, having slain the last of the orcs in that area. Legolas and Aragorn’s eyes went wide with recognition.

     “The Horn of Gondor,” Legolas whispered. 

     “Boromir!” Aragorn exclaimed.

     The three fought with desperation and renewed vigor as they rushed off in the direction of the sound, hoping they would reach him in time.

     It wouldn’t be long, however, before the strains of battle started to weigh on everyone.

     Boromir swung his sword viciously, thoughts racing as for every body that fell two more took its place. He grunted with effort as he shoved a particularly large orc, watching it fall backwards onto the pike of one of its fallen kin. He took a much needed deep breath, everything in him screaming that he needed to keep the halflings safe.

     “Go!” Boromir shouted to them, and the two retreated a safe distance, throwing stones at the still incoming flood of enemies.

     Talion and Eltariel took turns picking orcs off and defending each other. The combination of light and spectral arrows felled orcs from a distance, their sharp blades cutting down whoever got too close. Even so, the enemy’s numbers didn’t seem to dwindle. Eltariel whirled around in a fury, blades blurring with her lightning quick movements.

     A group of orcs frozen solid shattered at Talion’s next swing, shards of ice scattering at his feet and melting into the soil as his eyes scanned the rest of the battlefield. They quickly fell on an Uruk-hai war chief who was aiming a crossbow directly at—

     Boromir stumbled back as Talion shadow struck his way in front of him, a crossbow bolt piercing a weak spot in his armor, right next to his heart. Talion took the hit with a pained cry, somehow managing to stay unsteadily on his feet. Eltariel whirled around in alarm at the sound, gaze landing on a wounded Talion. Boromir stood stunned for a moment as Talion continued to fight, ignoring the injury as best he could before another bolt pierced him. Talion groaned, briefly falling to one knee, and Boromir snapped out of his trance, defending Talion with wild anger. Eltariel tried to go to them, but found herself surrounded, struggling to make her way through the wall of enemies that had suddenly appeared. Talion was still fighting, even as his vision swam and he felt his blood start to run cold. He flung Boromir aside as yet another bolt flew their way, this time alarmingly close to his neck, and he choked as he fell, pinning an exhausted Boromir between himself and a thick, sturdy tree trunk.

     Eltariel called out to them, and in her distraction fell victim to a hard blow to the gut. The wind was knocked out of her before a strong defender shield bash sent her flying. Her head collided with a tree and she lay unmoving in the brush, blades slipping from her grasp. The remaining orcs swept up Merry and Pippin, who shouted and struggled to no avail as they were captured, the horde moving on now that they’d gotten what they were looking for. One orc remained, slowly approaching a trapped Boromir and barely conscious Talion. Talion looked up at the war chief, and though his eyes were beginning to fail him, he recognized his old foe.

     “Lurtz,” Talion growled, coughing up blood as he glared up defiantly at his adversary.

     “Gravewalker,” Lurtz greeted back with a sick smile, aiming his crossbow directly between his eyes. “I will enjoy watching you suffer.”

     “I have…  faced death before. I… am not afraid.”

     Talion just needed a little more time. With what was left of his strength he summoned a wraith version of himself that slowly stalked towards Lurtz, a spectral Acharn raised as it awaited the signal for a killing blow. His stomach tied itself in knots as Lurtz’s smile widened, showing several rows of sharp, rotting, blackened teeth. Dark eyes shined brightly and with malicious intent as he raised the crossbow at a defenseless Boromir.

     “Who said anything about killing you when there is a much more satisfying target…”

     Boromir met the war chief’s gaze without fear.

     “You’ll never kill me,” Boromir told him, grinning tiredly and victoriously as a spectral dagger pierced Lurtz’s throat, slicing his neck clean from his shoulders.

     His body collapsed right in front of them, crossbow meeting the soft earth with a rattle as his head rolled a few feet away. Talion pushed himself off of Boromir as much as he could before he felt his limbs go numb, his strength failing. Boromir scrambled up, turning Talion over onto his back. His hands hovered carefully over the bolts sticking out of his armor. He had to think. He had to think, and fast! He could at least remove the bolts and cover the wounds to stop the bleeding. Then, if he could just find Aragorn and Legolas, perhaps they could make salves from the herbs they could find around the forest. And after that, they could—

     “Boromir,” Talion whispered with a soft laugh, sensing Boromir’s train of thought. “Don’t bother. There’s nothing you can do.”

     Boromir shook his head in denial, pulling Talion into his arms.

     “No. No, you saved my life. Again. Those bolts were meant for me.”

     “And I swore that the peril you sensed, your death here, wouldn’t come to pass. I am a man of my word.”

     Talion grimaced, coughing up blood, and Boromir shook his head once more.

     “We cannot do this without you. You can’t die here! Not for me! Not for someone who jeopardized this quest, the fate of this world!”

     “You are… a good man, Boromir,” Talion told him, smiling softly. “The Fellowship needs you more than it needs me. And… your brother… awaits your return.”

     “And what of defeating Sauron, destroying the One Ring, freeing Middle-earth from darkness?”

     Boromir’s voice broke, hands falling uselessly to his sides as fresh tears came and watered the ground beneath them.

     “My journey will not end here, my friend… But you will never catch up to Frodo… if you stay here with me.”

     “I won’t leave you here. You’re coming with me,” he insisted. “We’ll return to Minas Tirith together, just like we talked about!”

     “The Fellowship needs you. The halflings need you. Not me.” Talion grabbed his wrist weakly. “Promise me something, Boromir. Promise me that you… will not lose hope. If you do… then Sauron has already won.”

     “I…” Boromir looked into Talion’s eyes, finding himself grounded, a little bit of hope breaking through the dark haze that had been settling over him. He nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “I promise,” he told him.

     Talion smiled at him, and Boromir held his gaze until the light faded from his eyes, skin cold and pale, body limp and heavy. His head fell onto Talion’s chest, a bolt cutting his cheek as he choked on gut-wrenching sobs, clutching desperately at his fallen friend. Time lost all meaning as he stayed like that, until his eyes ran dry and his throat was raw, falling silent save for a few strangled hiccups. He only lifted his head again when he heard footsteps approaching. He brandished his sword with a weak growl, fully prepared to skewer whoever had come back to finish the job on him.

     “Boromir!” Aragorn exclaimed, and Boromir lowered his sword in relief when he saw him. “Where’s…?” His eye fell on Talion’s unmoving form, and he fell to his knees next to them in disbelief. “No. Talion…” He took one of Talion’s hands as Legolas, supporting a disoriented Eltariel, and Gimli joined them. Gimli leaned on his axe in sorrow while Legolas bowed his head at the sight.

     “Talion…” Eltariel whispered, a raw emptiness briefly overtaking her senses.

     She met Aragorn’s gaze as he looked towards her, an understanding passing between them. He nodded as her gaze flickered between Boromir, Talion, and him. He took Urfael gently in his grasp, laying it in Talion’s hands and closing them around the handle. He and Boromir placed it against his chest and closed his eyes.

     “Be at peace, son of Gondor…” Boromir whispered, letting out a harsh breath.

     “Are you injured, Boromir?”

     “Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises.”

     His ribs ached sharply in protest at that statement, but he made no mention of their condition.

     “I’m glad. We have to keep moving. Frodo will have left by now, and we must find Merry and Pippin before the trail goes cold.”

     “The halflings… I couldn’t keep them safe,” Boromir told him defeatedly. “Merry and Pippin, they’re…”

     “We will find them,” Legolas assured him.

     Boromir looked to him and then back to Talion, squeezing his eyes shut as he made up his mind. To everyone’s shock, he slowly shook his head.

     “I’m not going,” Boromir told them quietly.

     “What do you mean you’re not going?!” Gimli questioned. “You’re not staying here!”

     “I am taking his body to Gondor,” Boromir told them vehemently. “He… He wanted to see the city again. The least I can do now is make sure he is laid to rest in his homeland. And I must also apologize to Frodo… for what I did. If I take the eastern shore, I can find my way to Osgiliath. Though the area is treacherous, it will lead me home… My mind will not be swayed,” Boromir insisted. He tightened his grip on Talion, hoisting him up as he got to his feet. “I am going.”

     “Boromir…” Aragorn whispered.

     “Let him go,” she told him, all of the shocked looks now directed at her. “Talion would have wanted it this way.”

     Aragorn met her gaze, trying to understand. It clicked in his mind a few moments later, and he sighed in resignation.

     “I am hopeful our paths will cross again. Know that if they don’t, with whatever strength is in my blood, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail.”

     Boromir’s heart warmed at that.

     “Our people…” he repeated reverently. “I would have followed you, my brother. My captain… My king…”

     He bowed his head in respect to Aragorn, who smiled at him sadly, nodding.

     “Be safe, Boromir.”

     “And you. All of you,” he replied.

     With one last look, he headed back towards the shore. Eltariel, Legolas, and Gimli looked to Aragorn.

     “Can you walk, Eltariel?” Legolas asked.

     She pulled away from his grasp with a nod, taking a few shaky steps for good measure.

     “Well enough. Will we follow them?”

     “Frodo may have already reached the eastern shore by the time we get back,” Legolas told them worriedly.

     “And Sam, no doubt, will have gone with him. He followed me further into the forest, but he didn’t go near the fighting. He must have gone back to the shore to join Frodo,” Aragorn stated.

     He sighed again, and Legolas caught his expression, face falling.

     “You mean not to follow them.”

     “Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands.”

     “Then it has all been in vain. The Fellowship has failed,” Gimli responded forlornly.

     Aragorn matched his expression before a fiery determination took hold of him, and he clasped Legolas and Gimli’s arms, meeting Eltariel’s gaze as well.

     “Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death, not while we have strength left.” Legolas, Gimli, and Eltariel looked to him and then to one another, suddenly filled with resolve. He sheathed his sword, standing to lead the way back. “Leave all that can be spared behind when we return to the shore. We travel light… Let us hunt some orc.”

     Gimli, Legolas, and Eltariel all shared a smile, Gimli letting out an excited cry as he ran after Aragorn, Eltariel and Legolas grinning as they followed swiftly behind.

     The Fellowship was no more, broken into several pieces that each traveled their own path, until they could all reunite again when the time came.

     Boromir gently placed Talion’s body on one side of a boat, struggling to climb in as he pushed it into the waters. He managed to right himself before he could fall, one half of the cleaved, blood streaked Horn of Gondor not as fortunate. It fell into the Anduin without a sound, slowly washed away with the current. He secured his pack and rowed them across to the eastern shore, Frodo and Sam’s boat already abandoned. 

     Frodo and Sam stood atop a rocky cliff, mountain ranges and the fiery shadow of Mordor in the distance. Frodo worried over the others, hoping they were safe, wondering if they would ever all see each other again. Sam reassured him, a bright presence in a darkness that often threatened to send Frodo into a hopeless despair. 

     “I’m glad you’re with me, Sam,” he told him with a grateful, genuine smile, and Sam smiled back, staying by Frodo’s side as they continued forward.

Chapter Text

Moving Forward

     “You know, it’s been some time since I’ve had this much firepower in battle! I like it! ”

     Baranor looked over at Serka with a raised eyebrow, deftly dodging a jab from a nasty looking spear.

     “Don’t let it go to your head, brother! There is still a battle to be won here!”

     A drake zoomed past overhead, spitting a plume of flames along a large group of advancing orcs just outside of Gorgoroth’s fortress. The two held their ground above the front gate, smooth, fire warmed stone slick with blood beneath their feet. Serka ducked as Baranor’s blade swept in his direction, beheading an orc approaching from behind. Steel bolts flew from the crossbow in his Númenórean gauntlet immediately after, taking down a small group that had cornered an injured soldier. Serka rolled forward, shoving a very unfortunate pair of orcs into the flames below before turning back towards the inside of the fortress.

     “Looks like our overlord needs a bit of assistance!”

     Baranor turned and followed his gaze, surprised to see Bruz surrounded and down on one knee. It was a rare sight to see the unbeaten Olog as wounded as he was, but his raw strength paled in comparison to the sheer numbers of enemies around them. Before he could move to help him, a storm of arrows rained around Bruz, a lithe, agile figure swooping down and stabbing the last orc through the top of the skull. Baranor grinned, and Serka looked between them in confusion. Before he could ask his brother anything, Baranor aimed his grappling hook to quickly maneuver himself to the ground.

     “Hey! You’re just going to leave me up here?!” Serka looked around for a ladder with a huff. “Typical.”

     “Hold down the courtyard! The main waves are over, but there’s no telling which warchiefs will try to take advantage of our current state!”

     Idril’s eyes were weary as she sheathed her sword, which had definitely seen better days. Whatever energy she’d just mustered quickly vanished as the fighting died down, the last of the enemy either routed or slain. There were new, small scars across her face from her recent encounters with orc slavers. Her ragged hair was in need of a trim, and her armor could use a thorough cleaning, covered as it was in orc blood and a thin layer of soot and ash. Seregost had taken a lot out of her and her men and orcs, but they had finally made it to Gorgoroth, if a bit worse for wear. She turned to Baranor, smiling brightly as he landed in front of her.

     “Baranor! I take it your mission was a success?”

     He pulled her into a tight embrace when he found his footing, holding her close and allowing himself to imagine it was just the two of them and a handful of men at their side again in much simpler times, if only for a moment. She returned the embrace just as firmly, letting out a breath of relief. They hadn’t seen each other since his journey to Lithlad, far too long for either of their liking.

     “Idril,” Baranor greeted her warmly, finally pulling back after a minute that didn’t feel nearly long enough to either of them. “It was. Shindrâm is no longer a threat. What’s left of it, anyway.”

     Some of Idril’s men dropped down beside her, greeting Baranor kindly. He returned the greetings before his eyes swept his surroundings.

     Corpses, both man and orc, littered the courtyard and upper levels of the fortress along with broken and discarded weapons, the ground coated in puddles and trails of black and deep red. Wooden structures smoldered from drake fire while boulders from siege beasts sat in missing chunks of the fortress walls. Wounded were being hauled out of wreckage and transported to the medical room while the dead were sorted and piled. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and charred flesh, painful to breathe at times. The always dark sky seemed even more ominous and disheartening than usual, if such a thing was even possible when Barad-dûr loomed not too far from their current location. He wasn’t looking forward to cleanup and repair, if they were given much time to do either.

     “You all have seen your fair share of battle,” Baranor observed. “How goes the fight within Mordor?”

     Idril brushed some stray strands of hair from her eyes with a sigh.

     “Not as well as I’d like. While Nurn’s beasts have kept the worst of that region at bay, Cirith Ungol and Seregost haven’t been so fortunate. We’re being attacked faster than we can rebuild and rearm. Without Talion, we’ve had trouble with defections. It feels like orcs pour in endlessly from Udun.”

     Baranor nodded as he took in the information. Word had reached him on his way back from Lithlad that Talion had left in search of the fabled One Ring. Everyone knew conditions would only worsen in his absence, but no one could have predicted it would happen like this.

     “I don’t know what it’s going to take to shift the tide of this war.”

     “A miracle, that’s what,” Serka piped up, appearing at their sides with a frown.

     Idril regarded him with a piercing stare.

     “And who’s this?”

     “This is Jagai, my older brother,” Baranor introduced. “Known as Serka among the Vanishing Sons.”

     “A mercenary leader. And you trust him?”

     She regarded Serka warily, and he tried hard not to shrink under her sharp gaze.

     “With my life,” came the immediate response, and her expression softened as it fell on Baranor again.

     “Good. We’re going to need all the help we can get, if you’re still with me.”

     “Always.” 

     “Settlements and villages have come increasingly under fire. Orcs have been raiding for supplies and taking prisoners for slave camps. The people in the camps are divided up between manual labor and—” she spat the next word out in disgust, “— entertainment . Orcs and men are either thrown into fight pits, sold for… pleasure… or they’re being forced to expand the new tunnel system that connects each region. We came across a few camps on our way here, and we rescued who and what we could, but there are still plenty out there.”

     As the pair made preparations to leave, Serka looked between them in disbelief, having been completely forgotten about. He was going to make a point to mention the lovesick look in Baranor’s eyes to him later.

     “Well, since you’ve both made such wonderful plans while consulting me,” he drawled sarcastically, “Then where are we going?”

     “The Black Gate,” Skak murmured to himself, pacing restlessly on the balcony overlooking the Nurn stronghold’s interior.

     He hadn’t been the most eager orc when Talion had asked him to be the overlord of Nurn’s fortress, not too fond of the bright and lively surroundings, but he’d come to almost like it now. This lush region had always been Talion’s favorite place, and anywhere Talion went he would follow, if he could.

     Skak looked below at the minor repairs going on. Siege machines were being rebuilt, their medical wing was being renovated, rotting and charred wooden structures were being replaced, the warped metal of the walls and some of their traps was being bent back into shape. The Nurn stronghold was the most well fortified and prosperous stronghold in Mordor, and had been extremely lucky thus far in that a sea separated them from the mainland, where the bulk of the enemy horde was, and they had the most supplies and creatures (who did a marvelous job of devouring enemies, might he add) at their disposal. 

     But back to the issue at hand. The Black Gate was the doorway between Isengard and Mordor, feeding the enemy forces what seemed to be an endless supply of orcs that mindlessly supported Sauron simply because they were created to. How in Middle-earth could there be so many? Perhaps the numbers seemed greater because their own were dwindling. Regardless, they had two options to better their odds: take back the Black Gate (nigh impossible at the moment) or shut down Saruman’s Uruk-hai experiment in Isengard (less impossible, but still highly difficult). He had stewed on this train of thought for a number of weeks, but neither seemed particularly inviting even after all that time.

     He hummed in question as his dire caragor padded quietly onto the stone balcony, gently and sleepily headbutting his side. He reached down to scratch behind her ears with a half smile, but it disappeared from his face as quickly as it came.

     Communication from Amug, Ur-Edin, Baranor, and Idril indicated that they were practically being overrun. They could barely spare the people for supply raids and deliveries, and scouting had become almost suicidal even for the most seasoned warriors. The resurgence of slave camps and the creation of a new tunnel system was setting everyone on edge. All but the most loyal of creatures had returned to the wild, attacking anyone they came across—though he had such a way with beasts that Nurn thankfully didn’t have that problem. More orcs were defecting each day. Their current situation did not look promising.

     “Ah, cheer up, lad. There’s no use moping about things.”

     Skak looked to a newly arrived Torvin, who entered from the door that led to the stronghold’s throne room. He greeted the dire caragor with a pat on the head and a large slab of meat before taking up a spot next to Skak. The dwarf had spent some time in Seregost improving defenses and traps before returning to Nurn, and had been instrumental in rallying creatures, with the intent to lead an attack force across the sea; his own way with beasts made him the perfect person for the job.

     “It is not you who must sit by and play a supporting role while everyone else is in the heart of conflict.”

     “True. Very true. But, my axe impaled friend, that supporting role is important! The supplies we send go to good use, and the army we’re building here is almost ready to go. Sauron won’t know what hit him!”

     “I hope that you are right.”

     Whatever it was Talion planned to do with the One Ring, and wherever he was, Skak hoped he returned soon, before things took another turn for the worse.

     Ratbag didn’t know what was worse: almost wandering into an Ungoliant’s den, only stopping when he ran face first into what remained of one of her latest victims (a decaying orc corpse tangled in spider webs that was drained of blood, its pale, lifeless face twisted into a look of agony and pure terror), or the earth-splitting shrieks of the Nazgul that made even Az-Harto flinch. Their journey to Udun had been inspired by a conversation with Skak during their time in Nurn. Attempting to take back the Black Gate to stem the flow of enemy Uruk-hai into Mordor was a death wish, and attempting to sneak into Isengard to halt Saruman’s experiments was equally as foolish. But if anyone thought they had a chance to do either, despite the guarantee of an army of orcs standing between both destinations, it was Ratbag. Undercover work was his specialty, if he had anything to say about it!

     Before returning to Nurn, he and Az-Harto had been gathering information and sowing distrust in the ranks of enemies in Seregost. Even though he had a knack for getting captured and sometimes tortured, things seemed to go a lot smoother with one of Mordor’s most feared Olog-hai at his side. Captains had waged war on one another, warchiefs were assassinated by their own bodyguards or other warchiefs. Grunts second guessed every order, every move, every word spoken that wasn’t their own. Chaos ensued with a well timed lie here and a little nudge there. Enemy forces had turned on one another with just one wrong look . Ratbag had done some of his best work if tensions had been that high. (And when his name had started being mentioned by all involved, death threats made and hunting parties organized, that was his cue to disappear.) Yet when Saruman’s forces had started flooding Mordor, when the enemy came in unbelievable numbers under the banner of a meddling wizard in league with Sauron, they had put those differences aside to crush the armies and allies Talion had spent so long gathering and taking care of.

     And now, the once quiet but mighty city of Minas Morgul, Talion’s base of operations before his departure, flared to life with the shrieks of Nazgûl and a sickly green glow. When Talion had defeated the Witch King in battle and taken the city with an army of revenants—the dead soldiers of Gondor who had lost their lives in what was once a bright and thriving city—the Nazgûl hadn’t dared return. Talion had been absent for several months, however, and with him and his armies nowhere in sight, they had finally decided to reclaim their domain. None opposed them as their newly regenerated forms swirled around the abandoned ruins of what was formerly Minas Ithil, coming together at the tower that generated their barrier of darkness, power replenished.

     Ratbag leapt behind Az-Harto as a bright emerald beam of energy shot through the clouds above Minas Morgul, trembling even after it and the last of the shrill cries of the Nazgûl died down. An icy dread seemed to spread through Cirith Ungol, latching onto any living being within reach and burrowing deep within them. Even the sparse vegetation around them seemed to wilt under the weight of fear and despair.

     “Burzum nakhash,” Az-Harto murmured quietly.

      Darkness comes.

     “I don’t have a good feeling about that either, Ranger,” Ratbag replied softly. He shook his head after a moment. “Not a good feeling at all. B-But let’s keep moving! The Black Gate isn’t going to recapture itself, after all!”

     An agreeable grunt answered him, and the two continued onward to Udun, trying not to worry too much about what they might find there with the new shift in power in Mordor.

XxX

     The tunnels beneath Cirith Ungol were quiet, too quiet, as they had been for some time. With orcs busy swarming fortresses, hardly any had passed through her domain in longer than she could remember. Most days, she attempted to rest, with little success. She was surviving, but only just, occasionally catching a small meal in her webs that was barely enough to keep her going. When there was no rest in sight, she contemplated the ever changing visions that would flash beneath her closed eyes. Great battles, tests of trust, deception, greed, sorrow, illness, injury. Death. Destruction. It was a never ending cycle. There were, at least, a few images that stayed fixed for the moment, and that gave her a modicum of comfort.

     Shelob knew that this couldn’t continue. As much as she despised leaving, she might have to consider it if circumstances didn’t improve. She lay on a suspended bed of webs high in her cavern, mind quiet and clear for the first time in days. Perhaps she might finally be able to sleep. The notion was quickly dismissed as one of her children scuttled up to her. She held a hand out for them, palm face up, and upon contact she saw a flash of images.

      The Fellowship of the Ring is separated, overwhelmed, and struck a staggering blow. Crossbow bolts pierce Talion’s armor as he shields Boromir, son of Denethor, from certain death. Talion’s final breath before he enters the cycle of death and revival once again. Boromir carrying him as he reaches the opposite shore at Amon Hen…

     Her eyes snapped open, sharp and piercing, hand now empty. Her children were scattered far across Middle-earth. There were, in fact, a few stragglers in that area if she could only reach them. Her magic had begun weakening with her body, but she still had enough left to do this. Shelob closed her eyes again and concentrated, reaching out until she found who she was looking for. Through another child’s eyes she saw an exhausted Boromir, lying in a heap near the edge of a treeline, Talion’s lifeless body sprawled a few feet ahead of him. Crawling over and onto him, she reached for his soul: distorted, dim, and hardly resembling that of a mortal. At first there was no response. Then…

     Talion blinked awake with a pained groan, still feeling where bolts had struck him at Amon Hen. He hadn’t died since at least a year before his departure from Mordor, and it took him a few moments to adjust to what he once considered familiar surroundings. There was normally an endless darkness, at first, as his soul realized it could not move on from Middle-earth. Then, it began. What twisted memory would he be thrown back into this time? Ioreth and Dirhael’s deaths? The fall of Minas Ithil? Celebrimbor’s betrayal, perhaps? As he lay in a heap, he braced himself for what might come.

     But this time was different. It took him several long moments before he realized that no memories were coming. He looked around in a daze, then, at the deep grays and dull whites swirling around him. It was as if he were in the Wraith World, but something was off about the sight. There were streaks of black in the air, of blood red, Ringwraith green, and pale, bright blue in unidentifiable shapes all around him, constantly shifting in and out of focus.

     “I’ve never witnessed the state of undeath before,” a quiet voice said. Talion looked behind him, eyes landing on a pale and exhausted looking Shelob. She slowly made her way over to him and kneeled at his side, fingers skimming the fletching of the bolts still lodged in his chest. “Is it always like this?”

     Talion shook his head.

     “It is usually reliving your worst memories. This void, this unnatural state, finds different ways to twist them to torment you each time until you awaken.” He looked around again briefly. “It has never been like this.”

     Shelob followed his gaze, humming thoughtfully.

     “Perhaps it is my doing,” she told him, and he raised an eyebrow in question. “My vision is clouded beyond a certain point. Events change without end as you approach Mordor, and I cannot see clearly beyond your arrival but one moment.”

     “Show me. Show me what you’ve seen,” Talion pleaded.

     Shelob hesitated, something Talion had never seen her do.

     “These visions have remained unchanged as the days and nights pass…” she whispered almost regretfully, “But no events are ever truly set in stone.”

     She cradled his head softly in her hands, Talion’s vision warping before he witnessed images that made his heart stop.

      A battle ruined city lay under siege as men and orcs fought relentlessly. One warrior stands out among them with the White Tree of Gondor on his breastplate as a Nazgul riding a fellbeast descends upon Sam and Frodo.

     A fortress overrun by Uruk-hai and Ologs in a torrential downpour. Women and children hiding, shaking and terrified. Elves and men fighting for their lives as the walls are breached. A sword is driven through Eltariel’s back as she protects another…

     A large group, consisting of much of the Fellowship—Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Eltariel, and a man in white… Gandalf?!—and those who bear the Mark of Rohan gather and celebrate in a great, warmy lit hall. Swathed in Gandalf’s robes, and ever drawing Pippin’s gaze, is an ominously swirling palantir.

     Minas Morgul and its dark tower loom in the distance, the Witch-king at the helm of a great force of dark warriors, riding off into the West. Sam, Frodo, Gollum, and Talion himself, eyes flaming red and hood drawn, watching warily from above, finally returned to the land of Mordor.

     Talion’s vision faded to black, and he thought that might be the end, but one more vision came to him, different from the others. It was vague, blurry and uncertain in all aspects but one: him.

      A faint bestial cry sounds from above, scorching heat burning at his armor, all determination and will to live draining from his body and what was left of his heart. His colorless surroundings rush past him as he plummets down, down, down. And yet… as he feels the wound in his neck open once more, as he feels his life slip through his fingertips… a bright, familiar hand desperately reaches out to him, and with the last of his strength, Talion feels himself reach back.

XxX

     Boromir felt the muscles in his shoulders and back seize up, his legs painfully numb from walking without end, feet on fire, head beginning to spin. The forest around him—trees tall, gnarled, and imposing, their shadows taunting in the waning daylight, branches reaching menacingly towards him—felt unchanging. The limp body in his arms was cold and heavy, and his biggest reminder that he had to keep going. His battle wounds, before ignored in favor of putting as much distance between himself and Amon Hen as possible, now reared their ugly heads. Cuts, bruises, overworked muscles, and a few potentially bruised bones made themselves known once again. Boromir felt himself stumble over the uneven undergrowth, and the sudden movement to right himself made his vision blur, his steps almost slowing to a stop.

     No! He had to keep moving if he wanted to have a chance to catch up to Sam and Frodo before making his way to Minas Tirith. He had to… He had to properly lay Talion to rest. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the stinging of his eyes, he willed his body forward, seeing the trees ahead of him start to thin. At last, an end to the forest they’d been in! Not far now…

     Boromir gave a weak cry as his legs failed him, crumbling under the stress and fatigue and lack of rest. His knees hit the ground first, and Talion’s body pitched forward, landing face up a few feet away. His arms betrayed him as well, with no strength to hold him up as he tried to brace himself against the fall. He felt his breath get knocked out of him as his chest hit next, his face buried in tall grasses and dirt as it collided with the ground last. He reasoned with himself that rest could wait, that if he could just make it a little further… but he knew his body was at its limit. At this rate… He looked over at Talion in guilt. A spider—some dwelled even here?—smaller than most he’d encountered before, crawled onto his body, looking down at his pale, motionless face with interest.

     Boromir weakly reached for his sword with the intent to skewer it, and as he did so Talion gasped awake, a wraith green glow briefly overtaking his body before it returned to normal. The felled spider laid beside him, along with the three crossbow bolts that had been his undoing. He sucked in huge breaths, disoriented, eyes darting around as he took in his surroundings. Was he still at Amon Hen? The trees looked familiar, but this wasn’t the last place he remembered being. He didn’t have much time to dwell on the fact before he found himself with a sword weakly pressed to his throat. A pale and shaky Boromir, who looked like he hadn’t slept or bathed in days, straddled him. Talion saw the terror, grief, and bewilderment in his eyes as he met his gaze, attempting to raise a hand to reassure him when he felt the sword press just a little harder. He stilled as he felt a small trickle of blood against his skin, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill he felt deep in his bones.

     “Boromir—”

     “I watched you die,” Boromir whispered, barely audible. “I watched you die,” he stated more firmly, voice rising. “I saw the life leave your eyes. I held you in my arms as your skin turned pale and cold. I mourned you !” he screamed, voice echoing through the otherwise silent forest. Talion felt the cold steel blade begin to tremble against him. “How are you alive? What are you?!”

     “I am a man banished from death,” Talion told him after a moment, eyes sorrowful and full of anguish. “I face death time and time again, but my soul is forbidden from leaving this world. I return to my body to start anew, to watch the people I care about fall and move on without me, knowing I can never join them…” Talion raised his hand again, this time to lower Boromir’s sword. Boromir let him, frozen in place and looking at Talion as if he couldn’t possibly be real. “I am a man who mourns his wife and son, and all of his companions he’s had to watch die because of Sauron’s grip on this world.” Talion gingerly sat up, wincing at the phantom pains from the freshly healed wounds in his chest. “How long have I been gone?”

     Boromir hesitated before telling him, “I have walked what has felt like days without much rest. We’re at the edge of the forest.”

     He didn’t get much more than that out before he suddenly swayed, Talion darting forward to catch him before he could collapse. His eyes frantically searched around him, settling on the pack at Boromir’s belt. In it was lembas and a half full water skin. Talion didn’t know if it would be enough, if he would have to… His eyes flickered briefly to Isildur’s Ring, which glowed slightly, mocking him. He shook his head. No. He would use no wraith magic unless he had to. He looked back down at Boromir, whose eyes were sliding shut. Talion shook him firmly, and his eyes jolted back open.

     “Stay with me, Boromir. I need you to stay awake,” Talion urged. He broke the lembas into smaller pieces, slowly feeding it to Boromir and giving him small sips of water, until a bit of color returned to his face and he looked semi-alert. He put everything back in the pack before asking, “Do you have strength enough to walk?”

     “I… I think so.”

     As Talion slung one of Boromir’s arms over his shoulder, he let out a hiss at the pull in his chest. Damned warchiefs and their crossbows. He brought them both back up to their feet. They continued forward with some difficulty, Boromir’s feet dragging until they finally cleared the treeline. Talion fell to one knee to take a few deep breaths. Boromir sat next to him, looking more than a bit unwell.

     “I forget how draining undeath can be,” he murmured to himself before looking up at the terrain that lay ahead and sighing heavily: rocky, treacherous mountains, sharp peaks, dangerous slopes, sudden drops in elevation. Trying to navigate that while injured was a death sentence. Talion looked back at Boromir, who met his gaze after a moment of hesitation. “How are you with heights?”

     “I have traveled through mountains before,” Boromir told him tiredly.

     “By air?” Talion asked with a raised eyebrow. Boromir looked at him quizzically and Talion smirked in response. “Neither of us are in any condition to travel those mountains by foot, and while I can fall to my death and recover, you cannot. Air is the fastest and safest way to get where we’re going.”

     “How in Middle-earth are we going to travel by air?”

     Talion’s smirk grew wider as he held his fist up, green magic swirling around it for a few moments before he lowered his hand back to his side.

     “I will warn you, she is a bit wary around strangers, but she won’t harm you. Although, I did tell that to Ratbag once and she nearly set him on fire…” Boromir’s eyes went wide in shock, but it was nothing compared to the expression on his face as Luinil descended from the sky with a greeting roar, settling around them and eyeing Boromir suspiciously. “Breathe,” Talion reminded him, and Boromir gulped in a huge breath after letting out the one he didn’t know he was holding. Talion looked up at her fondly. “We need to get over the mountains,” he told her.

     She gave a low rumble, nudging Talion gently with her snout in understanding.

     When Boromir regained enough calm to speak, he asked, “Can she take us to Osgiliath?”

     Luinil turned to Boromir with a not so friendly growl, and Talion gently patted her snout.

     “Be nice, Luinil. He’s a friend.” She relented with a snort, her hot breath ruffling their hair. “Of course.”

     “How… How did you come to befriend a fire drake?” Boromir asked hesitantly.

     Talion smiled.

     “She came to my aid against one of her own kind. I haven’t the slightest idea why… but she has not left my side since.” Luinil gave a low, affirmative cry in response. “But why Osgiliath? Why not directly to the White City?”

     “I… I would like to see my brother again. Osgiliath has been under constant attack from orcs for some time now, and he, I, and our men have been defending it. I’m sure he’ll be there. And…” He averted his eyes, guilt overcoming him. “Frodo was heading that way, when he fled Amon Hen. I… I have to apologize for what I did.”

     Talion’s gaze softened, hand falling lightly on Boromir’s shoulder. Boromir looked at it, expression anguished when he observed Isildur’s Ring so close. He had no desire for a Ring anymore, not after what he could have done, ignoring its attempts to get him to take it despite a small, distant voice in his head urging him to.

     “The One Ring affected you, as it does all those it comes into contact with. You wished to do good, and it used that against you, tried to justify you harming Frodo as necessary to achieve that good. Boromir…” Talion waited until Boromir met and held his gaze. “It is not your fault,” he stressed adamantly. “In the end, you did not harm him. You urged him to run away from you instead. I am sure Frodo holds no ill will towards you for that.”

     Boromir’s eyes became haunted then, vividly remembering those moments.

     “He looked so frightened… like he didn’t recognize me.”

     “The Rings can make one unrecognizable,” Talion agreed, smiling grimly, acutely aware of his own situation.

     Boromir caught his meaning, looking again at Isildur’s Ring, swallowing uncertainly.

     He asked him, “Why don’t you simply take it off?”

     Talion didn’t answer immediately, grip tightening slightly on Boromir’s shoulder instead.

     “I freed the Nazgul who once possessed this Ring. It is now my burden to bear.”

     “But why?” Boromir questioned quietly. “You don’t have to condemn yourself to such a fate.”

     He held Talion’s gaze again. He knew why, of course. He remembered the council meeting, yet still couldn’t fathom how anyone like that could have the will to keep going.

     “You know why,” Talion answered him, knowing where his thoughts were. His other hand wandered absentmindedly to his neck, where the Black Hand had slit his throat once before, a small shiver racking his body. He changed the subject. “Are you injured?”

     Boromir assessed his body for a moment.

     “Battered and bruised from battle, weary from no rest, perhaps.” He huffed slightly. “Yearning for a warm meal.”

     That got a slight chuckle out of Talion.

     “It may be a while yet before you have one. There is enough lembas left in your pack should you need it until we stop again.” He looked towards the quickly darkening sky. “But let us rest for the night. We can leave tomorrow and start to cover ground.”

     “And your drake will keep watch?”

     Luinil gave an affirmative rumble, wrapping her body around them to provide warmth and cover. Talion nodded, leaning heavily against her stomach and letting out a long, low breath, staring up at nothing in particular. Boromir tried to make himself comfortable, but his mind wouldn’t stop. He turned one way, laying there for a few moments, then the other. Eventually he sighed in defeat, glancing over at Talion, who didn’t look much better.

     “You should rest as well.” Talion met his gaze. “Whether you physically need it or not, some sleep might do you good.”

     Talion smiled sadly at him.

     “I… It’s… difficult, the first night back after…”

     “Ah,” Boromir replied. “Yes. Dying seems… unpleasant.”

     Talion laughed softly at that, and Boromir couldn’t help a brief chuckle at the ridiculousness of his statement.

     “That’s one way to put it, I suppose. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

     In an effort to pass time, the two struck up a small and light conversation as stars began appearing in the now dark sky, about everything and nothing in particular. They discussed things ranging from their plans to reach Osgiliath and what they would do if a battle raged on, to who would win in a sword fight, to the actual meals they planned to have when they finally reached Gondor. Before long, Boromir was fast asleep, finally relaxed and snoring softly. Talion smiled gently at that, letting his head roll back and his eyes slip shut.

XxX

     For three days straight, Eltariel, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli traversed the highlands of Emyn Muil without rest, their swift pace no slower than when they’d started. Merry and Pippin’s trail wasn’t hard to follow, but the orcs they pursued had quite the head start. It was on the fourth day, when Aragorn’s discovery of a Leaf of Lórien brooch inspired new hope and energy in them, that steep slopes and rocky terrain finally gave way to open, green land as far as the eyes could see, cliffs melting into rock clusters scattered along the rolling hills below. Eltariel and Legolas stopped at the top of a rocky slope to admire the view, Aragorn not too far behind and Gimli struggling to catch up.

     “Rohan… home of the Horse Lords,” Aragorn whispered, a frown on his face. “There’s something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us.”

     “You feel it as well?” Eltariel asked. She stared out at the area as Legolas went ahead of her, gaze sharp and cold. “There is a darkness in the air, a taint in every breath we take. Sorcery.” She looked over to Legolas. “What do you see, mellon nin?”

     “The Uruks head northeast!” He squinted, eyes going wide as he told them, “They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!”

     “Saruman,” Eltariel and Aragorn both whispered, a rather stiff and chilly breeze blowing briefly past as the name was spoken.

     They both joined Legolas’ side, Eltariel following his gaze. The horde was faster than she’d ever seen before!

     “We must move quickly.” 

     They nodded to her, carefully clambering down the slope as Gimli huffed behind them. For several more days, they raced across the open land, over the grassy hills ahead of them before they felt flat ground underneath their feet. This—tracking, hunting, mounting a rescue—was something Eltariel could focus on. This was something she was well suited for, and she found a new confidence and purpose in their travels.

     The four of them kept moving even when darkness fell, time flying by as the morning caught up with them. They rested little, perhaps out of fear of losing the trail or because there was too much anxious energy between them to stop for long. After a night that involved preventing Gimli from tumbling to his death via sharp rock formation, a day came where Legolas suddenly stopped to turn and stare up at the sky in the midst of their pursuit. Aragorn and Eltariel paused a few steps ahead of him, and Gimli stopped when he reached them.

     “A red sun rises,” Legolas told them, thoughtful and concerned. “Blood has been spilled this night.”

     They all exchanged worried looks before Aragorn stiffened, head whipping around at the sound of thundering hooves echoing throughout the air. He gestured to the side, and the four of them dove behind a small rock formation to avoid getting trampled. A small, well armored cavalry wielding sharp spears rode past, horses kicking up a large cloud of dust in their wake. Aragorn, with a determined look in his eye that Legolas returned, stood up from their cover.

     “Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?!”

     The other three joined him as the cavalry circled back, looking less than welcoming. They crowded them, leaving barely enough room to move. Eltariel and Gimli looked wary of a fight while Legolas and Aragorn cautiously optimistic. The Rohirrim threateningly pointed their spears, one small movement away from impaling one of them. Aragorn held up his hands in a placating manner, and the others followed his lead. The leader of the cavalry rode forward through the ranks to meet them, stern and cold.

     “What business do two elves, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!”

     “Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine,” Gimli responded evenly.

     Aragorn’s gaze darted between both of them as he put a hand on Gimli’s shoulder in warning, but the man seemed to relax slightly at the statement.

     “I am Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark.”

     “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and Eltariel of the Golden Wood. We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king.”

     Éomer, now calmer, looked despondent at that.

     “Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe.” He took off his helmet, shaking out his long hair. “Not even his own kin.” The four exchanged looks of disbelief and confusion. Who or what was influencing Théoden in such a way that not even his own family was safe? The cavalry lifted their spears away, standing down as a different kind of anger filled Éomer’s eyes. “Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over his lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished.”

     “Banished by whom?” Eltariel questioned.

     Éomer sneered.

     “A spineless puppet who claims to speak for the king. The White Wizard is cunning,” he growled. “He walks here and there as an old man, hooded and cloaked.” He eyed Aragorn suspiciously. “And everywhere, his spies slip past our nets.”

     “We are no spies. We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plains.” Images of a terrified Merry and Pippin flashed before his eyes. “They’ve taken two of our friends captive,” he explained sadly.

     “The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night.”

     “But there were two hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?!” Gimli asked desperately.

     “They would be small, only children to your eyes,” Aragorn added. 

     Éomer shook his head in apology.

     “We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them.”

     He pointed behind them at a pillar of smoke in the distance.

    It was as if the air was sucked completely out of the four, none of them daring to breathe for fear of time resuming at the thought that… that Merry and Pippin…

     “Dead?” Gimli whispered, breaking the tense silence.

     Éomer nodded slowly.

     “I am sorry.” He whistled, and two horses, one white as snow and the other chestnut brown, trotted over to him. “May these horses bear you to better fortunes than their former masters.” He held the reins out to Aragorn, who took them with a nod of thanks. The man replaced his helmet and told them one last thing. “Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands… I hope if next we meet it is under better circumstances.” Éomer galloped forward, his company following as he declared, “We ride north!”

     The four watched them go, until they were barely specks in the distance. Eltariel saw Aragorn clench his fists before letting out a deep breath. Legolas cast his gaze towards the smoke from the burned bodies, Gimli staring blankly at his axe.

     “We must go,” Aragorn finally told them, breaking them all out of their stupor. “We have lingered for long enough, and there is still hope to be had. Let us continue onward.”

     Gimli vehemently refused to get on a horse, teased mercilessly by a smug Legolas, who removed the saddle and mounted the slightly smaller of the two horses with no problem at all. Gimli found himself clinging to Legolas as he was ungracefully seated behind him, latching onto him for fear of falling off. Eltariel and Aragorn looked to each other begrudgingly.

     “I do not desire to share a horse any more than you do,” Aragorn addressed her calmly, “But we have no other means of travel in which you could keep up with us.”

     “If I can survive riding on the back of a fire drake with Talion, I can tolerate sharing a horse with you,” Eltariel told him, unconcerned. “Besides, I have a feeling there are things you’d like to ask me.” 

     Aragorn gave a small smile as he mounted the remaining horse.

     “Many things, but there is time for that later.”

     He held out a hand to help her up. She looked at it for a moment before mounting perfectly fine on her own. Aragorn took his hand back, unsurprised.

     “Lead the way.”

     She gestured towards the others, and Aragorn looked up to see Legolas and Gimli looking to him for their next move. He took another deep, centering breath before nodding to himself, the four of them taking off to continue the search.

Translations

(Black Speech): Burzum nakhash → Darkness comes

Chapter Text

Chasing Away the Dark

     The orc burn pile that Éomer had mentioned was just as horrific up close as the four could have imagined, the stench of death and smoke still wafting from the remnants of the previous night’s fire. 

     “They were here,” Aragorn told them. “Look at these impressions in the grass.” He followed them further. “Signs of crawling. Their hands were bound.”

     “Why capture them instead of kill them?” Gimli asked. “They had no problem trying to get rid of the rest of us.”

     “The orc commanders will be aware that a hobbit bears the One Ring. They must have given orders to capture any they find. If not to take all hobbits to Sauron in case he is the one, then for information perhaps?” Legolas answered.

     “A reasonable assumption, and one I agree with.” The path Merry and Pippin had carved in their crawling eventually turned into footprints. “They managed to free themselves…” He came across cut pieces of rope and one of the hobbit’s belts as he followed the trail, leading the four of them away from the parched yellow grass and charred orc corpses and towards— “Fangorn Forest.”

     “And we plan to go there?” Gimli asked nervously.

     “The tales told of Fangorn are exactly that: tales. The forest will not harm you so long as you don’t give it a reason to.”

     Gimli rounded on Eltariel, uncertain.

     “And how are you so sure of that?”

     “I have traveled the forest before, though only briefly each time. The Ents of old reside there, but they do little more than listen to those who enter their domain and converse with one another if they do not sleep. Keep your axe lowered, master dwarf, and you shall be fine.”

     There were indeed hobbit tracks along the river Entwash that led into Fangorn, and even stranger, larger tracks that followed. The aged and gnarled trees were densely clustered throughout the forest, thick, dangling vines and moss covered rocks and soil greeting deep and twisted roots and dead, loose branches. The creaking and groaning of trees had Gimli on high alert, the dwarf barely able to resist grabbing his axe. Eltariel looked around them in fascination before focusing on Aragorn, who studied the new tracks with a thoughtful expression.

     “This forest is old,” Legolas spoke softly. “Very old. It’s full of memory… and anger.”

     “Anger?” Gimli asked.

     “They have feelings, my friend. The Elves began it, waking up the trees, teaching them to speak.”

     “And the Ents did not forget those teachings,” Eltariel added. She took a few steps back before running at the nearest tree, leaping up and pulling herself to stand on a thick and sturdy branch. “Do you see anything else?” she called below.

     Legolas smiled fondly up at her, but expression soon went from light hearted to furious as something caught his eye in the distance. He drew his bow and an arrow, holding it tensely as he stepped forward.

     “Ad no ennas!”

      Something’s out there.

     Aragorn was immediately at his side, watching Legolas’ eyes track their target.

     “Man cenich?” he whispered.

      What do you see?

     “The White Wizard approaches,” Legolas answered.

     He gestured minutely over his shoulder. Eltariel followed the movement, finding a stooped figure in gray standing motionlessly on a large boulder, blending in almost seamlessly with the shadows of the forest. Aragorn firmly gripped the handle of his sword, and Gimli that of his axe. Legolas nocked an arrow, holding his bow low. Eltariel readied herself to attack from above, blades halfway out of their sheaths. Almost in unison the trio on the ground turned, the wizard easily deflecting an arrow and Gimli’s axe with a wave of his hand. Eltariel shielded her eyes as their foe began glowing brightly against their attacks, blinding them. Aragorn’s sword grew red hot in his hands, and he dropped it at his feet with a gasp.

     “You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits,” the wizard spoke, and the four of them lowered their guard slightly at the non-hostile tone.

     “Where are they?” Aragorn demanded to know. “What do you know of them?”

     “They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect… Does that comfort you?” came the answer.

     “Who are you?” Aragorn asked, a strange shock of emotion filling him, though it was not of terror or suspicion. It was lighter, warmer, and his voice found calm once more. “Might you tell us your name and show us your face?”

     A cloak of gray fell from the wizard, fluttering to the ground in the cool, light breeze that suddenly blew. The blinding light faded to reveal a familiar face, and the four gasped in overwhelming relief and joy. Gimli and Legolas bowed their heads in shame, Aragorn staring in disbelief, and Eltariel landed lightly on her feet behind them with a hopeful smile.

     “It cannot be,” Aragorn uttered.

     “Mithrandir,” Eltariel whispered. “You’re alive.”

     “Forgive me. I mistook you for Saruman,” Legolas apologized.

     “I am Saruman. Or rather, Saruman as he should have been.” 

     Aragorn took a step forward.

     “You fell.”

     “Through fire, and deep water, I did. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. At the bottom of Durin’s Bridge in Moria, through dark tunnels filled with nameless things that even Sauron knows not, along the Endless Stair said to be lost and destroyed in legends, until we came to Durin’s Tower. We fought and fought, until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside.”

     His voice echoed with an unknown power through the trees, and it was almost as if the four could see flashes of the places he spoke of. He stepped down into the brush as he continued.

     “Darkness took me then, and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth… But it was not the end. I felt life in me again, and so Gwaihir the Windlord of the Eagles bore me to Lothlórien, where I spent a time healing and found myself clothed in white. I’ve been sent back… until my task is done.”

     “Gandalf…” Aragorn began.

     Gimli gave a relieved sniffle behind him.

     “Gandalf?” For a moment the wizard looked confused, before recognition dawned in his eyes and a soft smile emerged on his face. “Yes. That is what they used to call me.” Aragorn nodded in confirmation. “Gandalf the Grey. That was my name. I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now… at the turn of the tide.”

     The now five members traveled out of the Fangorn and steadily southward. It was Gandalf who called Shadowfax, lord of horses, and their two steeds at the outskirts of the forest, and Gandalf who gave them what few details he knew of Merry and Pippin’s situation. Treebeard, the oldest and wisest of the Ents, had found them and was keeping them safe. With Treebeard, none dared threaten the hobbits, lest they wish to face the wrath of Fangorn, of which it and Treebeard were one in the same. Where they were now remained unknown, but Gandalf was sure it wouldn’t be too long before they all saw each other again.

     Several days and nights they traveled, through plains of tall grass and riverlands, over hills and towards great mountains. Gandalf kept a quick and steady pace, leaving little time for any more rest than was necessary. Poor Gimli had fallen asleep and nearly tumbled from the back of his horse more than once in those days. It wasn’t until one of their last nights on the road before reaching Rohan that Eltariel found herself wide awake, her heart troubled and mind restless. She sat on the cliffside where they’d made camp, looking out over the land ahead of them, hood lowered and hair hanging in a curtain of gold around her face that shined faintly in the moonlight. She looked up when Gandalf came over to join her, settling himself down at her side, staff laid next to him.

     “What troubles you at this late hour, Eltariel?”

     She smiled grimly, looking down at the Light of Galadriel and flaring just enough of it to illuminate them both.

     “When Talion perished at Amon Hen, Aragorn and I convinced Gimli and Legolas to let Boromir go. Boromir insisted that he take Talion back to Minas Tirith for a proper burial, and planned to head to Osgiliath to catch up to Frodo and Sam on his way there.”

     “And you concealed the truth of his inability to die and pass on from them.”

     She nodded.

     “They would have insisted on waiting for him to wake again, perhaps so we may all depart from there together. Whether that would have been on the path that we ended up taking to find you again or one that led to Osgiliath, I could not say. But I knew that if we let them go, Talion could get them safely to Osgiliath, in time to find Frodo and Sam so that he may continue to guide them to Mordor.”

     “And so that Boromir was guaranteed safe travel to his home,” Gandalf finished.

     “Yes,” Eltariel agreed. “I just can’t help but worry… about the effects of the One Ring and Isildur’s Ring on Talion the closer they get to Mordor. And the effects of the One Ring on Frodo. Away from the Eye and Barad-dûr, the effects of the Rings of Power are not as strong or prominent, though their hold on their bearers may remain firm.”

     “You think they may fall to darkness before they reach Mount Doom, or fall close enough to it that their task becomes nigh impossible.”

     The Light disappeared, Eltariel’s hand falling to her side, sighing.

     “I do not think they will fall. I simply fear that their battles with darkness affect them more than they realize. Their burdens are quite heavy, and that weight can drive a person to do rash and unwise things. Sam went with Frodo, when the Fellowship broke at Amon Hen, and his spirit seems unshakable, even in the face of great peril. I just hope it is enough.”

     Gandalf hummed softly at the mention of Sam, relieved, his gaze comforting as Eltariel met it.

     “When Talion attempted to save me in Moria, I glanced upon his soul through his eyes. Much of it was dark and twisted, tainted by Isildur’s Ring and his time spent dying and reviving. There was much pain and struggling, influences of evil looking to destroy any trace of his mortal self… But there was also a bright and blinding part that remained untouched by that evil and darkness. It called to me, giving me strength, and I heard the words, “ As long as I have breath in my body, my fate is my own. ” Those are the words he spoke when he first donned Isildur’s Ring, and words that he takes to heart.” Gandalf smiled slightly. “The will of the Rings is great, but so too are the wills of Talion and Frodo. I have no doubt Talion has the strength to retain his identity and help Frodo let go of the One Ring when the time comes.”

     “Your words comfort me, yet my mind remains unsettled,” she told him softly, worry etched in her features.

     “As is natural, my dear. The mind can be one’s greatest asset or their own worst enemy. What ifs can plague even the most confident and assured of beings.” He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Tomorrow we shall reach Rohan. Trouble feels close at hand, but it has not yet reached us, or us it. Rest, and let your mind be at ease for a time. No harm will come to us on this night.”

     “I will try.” She bowed her head respectfully. “Thank you for your counsel.”

     “There is no need to be so formal with me,” Gandalf insisted, getting to his feet and leaning on his staff slightly, a twinkle in his eyes. “I know you hide a playful and lighthearted spirit that may rival even young Peregrin Took’s!”

     Eltariel smiled softly, getting up and settling next to a rather tall tree in the small, sheltered cluster they’d stopped at when it fell dark.

     “Goodnight, Mithrandir.”

XxX

     The sun shone brightly above the jagged mountainside as Talion and Boromir prepared to move on the next day. Though Boromir still looked quite haggard, a full night’s sleep had done him lots of good, some color returned to his face and strength restored enough to stand on his own. Talion, too, seemed in better condition, aches and pains from the previous day nearly gone.

     “And you’re sure this is safe?” Boromir asked yet again.

     Talion tried and failed to hold back a chuckle at how nervous he sounded.

     “Yes. You have nothing to worry about so long as you hold on tightly. If it’s being high up that bothers you, just don’t look down.”

     “It is not heights that make me uneasy.”

     He didn’t elaborate, so Talion gestured for Luinil to lean down for them.

     “I would normally shadow mount, but since you can’t…” Talion leapt onto her back without much issue, situating himself rather quickly before offering a hand to Boromir, who looked at it skeptically. “It is safe, I promise. You’ll be fine.”

     “The more you speak, the less reassuring you sound,” Boromir told him, taking the hand hesitantly and letting out an undignified squawk as Talion easily hauled him up behind him.

     Boromir immediately latched onto him as Luinil stood, stretching out her blue and white speckled leathery wings with a soft growl.

     “You know how to get to Osgiliath, don’t you, girl?” She rumbled affirmatively, and Talion patted at her neck gently. “Fly swiftly and carefully. And if a battle rages below us when we arrive…” Talion’s eyes briefly shone a fiery red-orange. “Show them no mercy.”

    Boromir clutched Talion’s arm in a death grip as she took off with a ground shaking roar. The forests of Amon Hen were left behind as mountain peaks and rocky cliff walls of brown and gray blurred below. Talion took a deep breath as crisp, fresh air rushed against them, hood and hair fluttering in the strong wind, holding onto a rough, thick, white spike about the size of his torso. He had missed this: how freeing flying felt, how his mind could wander as he watched the land below them swirl into a mix of colors, how he could lose himself to the elements without much physical repercussion. Sometimes, when there had been no hurry in Mordor, he could make out the texture of trees, the beautiful sight of snowy mountaintops, the flecks of red, gold, and orange in lakes of lava, the rolling waves in the sea, swirling clouds of fog…

     Mordor.

     How much had things changed since he’d been gone? Were the strongholds secure? Were the people he’d managed to free safe? How were the Uruks and Ologs? How were the creatures? How widespread were the effects of Barad-dûr? Had its darkness and hopelessness spread across the land? Had fear and paranoia and distrust infected the once strong and united people he’d saved? And…

     Talion let his eyes slip shut as he just listened to the wind whistling in his ears, the occasional flaps of Luinil’s wings, his heartbeat and steady breathing. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on all of that, lest he distract himself further from the task at hand. He still had a job to do. Mordor depended on him. Celebrimbor depended on him. He sighed, and Boromir hummed in question, still clinging to him, though not as tightly as before.

     “It’s nothing. Do you expect us to find a battle raging when we arrive?”

     Boromir considered the question for a moment.

     “I would hope not, but it is likely. Do you intend to fight if one is?”

     “Not directly, if we can avoid it. If it is overrun, it’s safer to remain in the air than to be on foot.”

     “So you will run if all looks lost?” Boromir asked in outrage.

     “We are riding a fire drake, Boromir,” Talion reminded him as he turned his head to address him directly. “If Osgiliath looks to be overrun with orcs, we will simply have to show them what the true heat of battle is.”

     Talion grinned darkly, but in good humor, and Boromir chuckled nervously at that.

     “Please do not take offense when I say that I sometimes don’t know whether to fear you or be glad you are not my enemy.”

     Talion frowned.

     “Do you fear me?”

     There were a few moments of silence, Boromir averting his eyes as he thought about how best to word his response.

     “You defy death and possess abilities that only figures in legend have. You are more powerful and determined than any other being I have ever seen before. You could be rid of me at any moment if you wanted. I trust you, but it is hard not to imagine what could happen if you grew bored of my presence.”

     “We are friends, are we not?” Boromir nodded slowly. “Then fear not, Boromir. I do not wish to do you harm, nor turn my power against you in any way. What I do wish to do is reunite you with your brother and ensure that you make it home safely.”

     “That we make it home safely.” Talion looked at him in confusion, and Boromir smiled. “Osgiliath is not too far from Minas Tirith. You’ll have a chance to visit now. ”

     Talion nodded to him a moment later with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

     He would love nothing more than to return to the White City after so much time away, but… he had a feeling that their paths would diverge soon. That feeling remained throughout the rest of the day.

     Talion didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes he found himself standing on the stone balcony of the stronghold in Seregost, a burst of aurora lights painting the dark, shimmering sky in a rainbow of colors. A glow of gold and orange and red from the fires in the stronghold lit his lower peripheral vision with warmth, while white and gray and black surrounded the area as far as the eye could see. The air was full of merry songs, excited yet exhausted chatter, bustling orcs and creatures, the slosh of grog, and a chilly winter breeze. Despite the plethora of activity, Talion’s gaze remained fixed above him, everything else seeming a world away. Another presence soon joined his, and he found his fingers intertwining with another’s. Talion smiled as a gentle flurry of snow began, blinking a few of the flakes out of his eyes as they covered up the footprints and imperfections of the land below them.

     “Do you remember this night?” Talion asked softly.

     “The night we first took over the stronghold in Seregost.” Celebrimbor smiled wistfully. “The night the skies celebrated our victory with us.”

     “And do you remember what you said to me that night?”

     Talion’s voice was even softer now. Celebrimbor squeezed his hand in comfort.

     “Our victory is a small and brief one. The odds are ever changing, and Sauron is ever patient. We mustn't misstep in haste, nor dawdle in hesitation… and we mustn’t lose hope that every victory, small, brief, or otherwise, will lead to the ones we seek most.”

     Talion nodded, swallowing anxiously.

     “We shall reach Mordor again soon, and yet I feel as if I haven’t accomplished anything since I left it. The Fellowship is broken, scattered in the wind. Gandalf perished in Moria. Merry and Pippin have been captured. I… I died. What victories have I earned as of late?” He spared a glance down at Isildur’s Ring on the hand held in Celebrimbor’s. “Still you must struggle against Sauron, and still I hear the voice of the Witch-king trying to draw me fully into darkness, louder and more insistent each time.”

     Celebrimbor finally looked at him, seeing the visage of Talion from the past for a moment, before Isildur’s Ring came into play. When he blinked, he saw black veins spider-webbing across his face, and though his eyes were still blue, they were filled with an indescribable weariness and sadness. Talion’s once bright armor was blackened, and the magic that was once a pale blue was swirling toxic green at his fingertips.

     “You ensured the rest of the Fellowship arrived safely in Rivendell before the Nazgûl could overtake them. Eltariel has begun to find herself again after a lifetime of trying to be someone she is not. You saved Boromir at Amon Hen and helped him fight his own call to the Rings. Aragorn’s leadership is strengthened by your belief in him. Frodo now knows that he is not alone in his struggles as a Ring bearer, and he will never feel that fear of never being understood again. Even now, you rush to Osgiliath to save the halflings and people of Gondor. You have accomplished much more than you think. Your journey has not been in vain, and you have a strength within that you do not always recognize.”

     Talion smiled sadly, meeting Celebrimbor’s piercing sapphire eyes.

     “Natyë i cala imi huinënyan.”

      You are the light in my darkness.

     With a warm, soft smile, Celebrimbor pulled him close in a grounding embrace, and Talion wrapped his arms around the elf in return, fixing his gaze on a fire below that shined brightly and defiantly against the night. Hope. Light. His light. So long as he had those, Sauron would never win. It was that thought that stuck with him when his vision returned to that of the waking world.

XxX

     The sun was climbing high into the sky when mountains with snowy peaks and a silent city came into their sights. Gandalf stopped them briefly.

     “Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown.” Legolas and Aragorn looked on cautiously, and Gimli in worry, while Eltariel cast her eyes in the direction of Isengard with a glare. “Saruman’s hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Be careful what you say, and do not look for welcome here.”

     With that they set off again, making for the gate that gave entrance to the city. The guards there were none too excited at their arrival, informing them that they were to prohibit entry to any stranger who approached. Gandalf gave his name, and the message that he had urgent business with the king, sent to ensure the safety of the city and its people. After some hesitation, the gates were opened, with the warning that more guards would meet with them before their audience with Théoden.

     Up they rode towards the top of the city, garnering cautious and frightened looks from its citizens. All motion stopped as they passed except for the turning of heads and the following of eyes. The staccato clip clop of hooves against stone sounded loudly along the otherwise tense and quiet path. The air was full of despair, and Eltariel sensed hints of dark magic as they continued on. Legolas felt it also, and the pair exchanged concerned glances.

     Liar. Betrayer. Servant of Darkness. Saruman’s magic made anger stir within her, and she took a deep breath to dispel it.

     Gimli huffed quietly, “You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard,” though he too was a bit on edge.

     The five dismounted from their horses when they could go no further, climbing the stairs to Théoden’s throne room on foot. They were stopped at the top by a group of armed guards. The helmetless guard captain greeted them curtly.

     “I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame, by order of Grima Wormtongue.” Gandalf bristled at that name, a dark look in his eyes that passed as quickly as it came. He nodded to them, and they handed over their weapons accordingly. Legolas gave up his bow, quiver, and swords, as did Aragorn, along with a knife. Gimli reluctantly gave up his axe, and Eltariel gave her sword and dagger. The man who had addressed them looked to Gandalf expectantly, and when Gandalf looked back to him in confusion, he clarified, “Your staff?”

     “Oh. You would not part an old man from his walking stick, would you?”

     The other four held back smiles at that statement.

     The guard sighed, turning around and bidding them to follow him inside. Long was the Golden Hall of Meduseld—its walls and columns of deep crimson wooden pillars were decorated with carved swirling patterns of gold and dark gray, with banners bearing the mark of Rohan hung behind the throne and from the high ceilings—and shades of blood red, seafoam green, sky blue, and gold were all around them. The doors were shut and locked firmly behind them by a pair of guards soon after.

     At the very end of the hall they walked was an old man ravaged by time and magic. He was slumped in his throne, with long white, unkempt hair falling in his eyes, his irises milky and unseeing. Leaning over to smugly whisper in his ear was Grima Wormtongue, looking as deceitful and weaselly as his name suggested, his dark garb out of place in his otherwise bright surroundings.

     “The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King,” Gandalf called to him.

     Legolas held his free arm in support as Gandalf leaned the rest of his weight on his staff to maintain his ruse.

     “Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow, herald of woe?” 

     Théoden’s speech was stilted, rhythm slow and unnatural. Wormtongue nodded in approval.

     “A just question, my liege.” Wormtongue stood and began making his way slowly towards them, glaring. “Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest—”

     “Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth,” Gandalf snapped, and all eyes fell on him. “I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm.”

     Gandalf raised his staff threateningly, and the tension in the hall boiled over as Wormtongue scurried away.

     “I told you to take the wizard’s staff!”

     Quickly did the guards move to assail Gandalf, and quickly did the Fellowship members incapacitate them and halt them in their tracks, unarmed as they were. Gandalf moved effortlessly through the chaos, calling out to Théoden, preparing to break the spell cast upon him. Before any more men could rush forward, Eltariel erected a great wall of burning light, effectively cutting the hall in half and leaving them safe from attack. The air seemed more breathable then, less tainted than before. Gimli pinned Wormtongue under his boot as he tried to escape, a threatening scowl keeping him grounded and silent.

     “Théoden, son of Thengel, will you hearken to me?” Théoden looked to him, turning weakly in his throne. With a flourish, Gandalf cast away his elven cloak to reveal his white garb, its light banishing the clinging darkness from the hall. The nearest side door flew open and sunlight spilled in, along with a maiden in white who looked to Théoden with great worry. Aragorn stopped her in her tracks as Gandalf thrust his staff forward. In a booming voice, he said, “Too long have you sat in shadow, but not all is dark. From Saruman’s spell, I release you!”

     Théoden became engulfed in a blinding white light, crying out in shock, and as it faded, so too did the traces of Saruman’s magic. Unkempt white hair transformed into wavy golden tresses that hung neatly to his shoulders and away from his face. His milky white eyes regained their steely blue hue, and his sight roamed until it settled on the maiden in white, who ran to him with an overjoyed grin. He embraced her in recognition and relief. Eltariel dispelled her wall of light, rejoining the others.

     “Éowyn,” he whispered happily as he held his niece close. As they separated, Théoden looked out at his guests, eyes going wide. “Gandalf?”

     “Breathe the free air again, my friend,” Gandalf greeted him, and with Éowyn’s help Théoden stood, his mind clearing and his strength returning.

     “Dark have been my dreams of late. But I feel as one newly awakened.”

     Eltariel spared a glance at Wormtongue, who was struggling in Gimli’s grasp as Théoden was presented his sword by the guard captain. Théoden stood to his full and true height then, with the aura of a mighty and rejuvenated king, and his eyes slowly landed on Wormtongue with murderous intent. Soon, citizens had gathered near the top of the city as Wormtongue was sent crashing down the stairs, pleading to be spared and remain in Rohan. Théoden did not look merciful, advancing on him with his sword raised. Blood would have been spilled if not for Aragorn, whose hand stayed the king’s with calm and rational words. Wormtongue disappeared from sight, the distant sound of hooves leaving with him several moments later.

     “He is not worth it, King Théoden. Let him scurry back to his master with his tail between his legs,” Eltariel told him, and he looked between her and Aragorn before finally standing down with a long sigh. A confident cry rang out in the gathered crowd, and almost all in sight kneeled before Théoden, Eltariel and Legolas bowing their heads to him respectfully. “There are more important things to be dealt with at the moment.”

     Her tone was sorrowful now, and it was then that Théoden realized who was missing from his immediate surroundings.

     “Where is Théodred?” Dread took over his features, and his voice shook as he asked again, “Where is my son?”

     The burial that happened later that day whisked away the light and hope that Théoden’s return to normal had brought. Gloom replaced it as the sun began to set, natural shadows falling over the city and its people. Many tears were shed, and as Éowyn’s voice carried across the rolling green hills and mountainside, singing a mourning song in the ancient language of the Rohirrim, that gloom settled, fear and doubt beginning to take root alongside it. Théodred was carried by six armed men, his sword and a small cluster of white simbelmynë flowers grasped firmly in his hands laid upon his chest. Into a stone tomb he was taken and laid to rest, and as it sealed behind him, the crowd lingered shortly before slowly dispersing, heading back to the city.

     Théoden and Gandalf remained, a quiet conversation taking place between them. Gimli looked on at the tomb in respect before being the first of the other four to head back. Aragorn followed not long after, and Legolas inclined his head towards Eltariel, who fell to his side and went with him. They dined in Theoden’s hall for a time, Aragorn and Gimli sitting at a table while Eltariel and Legolas stood near them, until Théoden and Gandalf returned. Theoden’s face was streaked with drying tears and Gandalf’s expression was grim and troubled. A pair of young and frightened children followed, and Éowyn attended to them immediately. Wild Men, as she called them, had attacked an unsuspecting village not far from them, and the children seemed to be the only survivors.

     “This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight!” Gandalf implored him.

     “You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king.”

     At Aragorn’s words Théoden stood from his throne and paced back and forth across the hall in frustration. Aragorn took a drag from his pipe as he watched, less worried than he would have liked.

     “They will be three hundred leagues from here by now,” Théoden told him. His expression was resigned, and an idea immediately sprang to mind, one that he would not be swayed from. “Éomer cannot help us.” Gandalf got to his feet as well, but Théoden cut him off before he could argue. “I know what it is you want of me, Gandalf, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war.”

     “Open war comes to you,” Eltariel spoke up, and Théoden rounded on her, “whether you would like it to or not. It is not as simple as telling Saruman no and expecting his army to turn away. If you do not wish to risk lives by going out to face it, what will you do?”

     All eyes were fixed on Théoden, who gestured for one of the guards to come forward after a few moments.

     “We empty the city. Tell everyone they are to take only what they need and nothing more, and to make haste, for we leave soon.” He took a deep breath that did nothing to assuage his fears. “We leave for Helm’s Deep.”

Translations

(Q): Natyë i cala imi huinë nyan → You are the light in my darkness

Chapter Text

The Turn of the Tide

     A scream of torment echoed throughout the tunnels beneath Gorgoroth, the air warm and thick with the smell of brimstone and blood. The passageway they were in could fit a trio of caragor riders side by side comfortably, tall enough that the average Olog-hai didn’t have to duck too often. Mordor had once again begun to fall quiet, the outpouring of Saruman’s orcs slowed almost to a crawl, sieges now manageable and with lower casualties. While every fortress and settlement was relieved to have the reprieve, they couldn’t help but worry that it foreshadowed even worse events yet to come. Idril, Baranor, and a squadron of orc soldiers had entered the new tunnel system the enemy had dug to connect the mainland regions of Mordor to scout for answers, both about the newfound quiet and the underground slave camps currently in Gorgoroth.

     Idril stood back and watched as one of her captains dug a serrated black blade deep into a leg of their orc captive. A rather crude outline of Mount Doom had been carved into it, and (what she assumed were) a skull and crossbones were quickly taking shape to follow.

     “The boss tried to be nice. Now you’re stuck with me! Shâ'vadyash mozob. Pûr'muk ungur nash!”

     “Whether that death is quick and painless or not is up to you,” Idril added. “Mormog Flesh-Render is not known for being patient.” She nodded to the scarred orc captain, who went to twist the blade even deeper with one hand and procured a bottle of ghûl acid with the other. “Do what you must to make him talk.”

     “Wait wait wait! WAIT! I-I’ll tell you what I know! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”

     “That’s more like it.”

     She left Mormog to his interrogation, returning to the side of a conflicted looking Baranor. He wiped his sword clean, meeting her gaze as she carefully stepped over the trail of orc bodies that led back the way they came, footsteps echoing across the rough, dark stone.

     “You must have spent quite some time with your orc followers to know their tongue and condone their ways.”

     She sensed no heat in his words, but she could tell he didn’t expect their scouting trip to go quite like this.

     “Were you expecting an honorable course of action in an honorless place, Baranor?” She sighed. “Some orcs are willing to talk. Some are even friendly… But not all of them can be reasoned with, and not all are cooperative. I take no pleasure in seeing them suffer, but I will have answers.”

     “If we discard our honor in the face of our enemies, how are we any better than them?”

     “How are we any better than the slavers and kidnappers? The rapists and murderers? The orcs that tear families apart and work our people to death, treat them like playthings and parade their remains around for all to see? How are we better than them ?” Idril took a deep breath as she felt her voice rising, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut. “Forgive me. My anger is not at you. Before we had Talion’s resources at our disposal, I watched innocent men, women, and children suffer and die needlessly. I watched the orcs who stood to protect them dragged away and slaughtered. I had to witness entire communities disappear in bloodbaths because I was too late to save them. Never again.”

     She hadn’t noticed the trembling of her hands until Baranor gently took them in his, and she met his sad and understanding gaze with a harsh breath.

     “We will rescue them, Idril. As many as we can. I just don’t want us to lose you in the process.”

     She squeezed his hands lightly.

     “I will never be lost so long as I can still fight for our people.”

     Before Baranor could say anything else, Mormog approached them, their former captive’s head dangling from a blood-soaked hand.

     “They’re gathering at Isengard, boss. Saruman plans to strike Rohan and then Gondor with his army.”

     “Then the Ring must be close,” Idril realized. “But why bring it here?”

     “He also had this.” Mormog held up a crinkled, bloodstained map of the tunnels, with spots marked for slave camps, trade points, and orc camp locations. “It’s our lucky day.”

     “Indeed. Maybe we should head back and prepare for a longer, harder journey ahead of us?” Baranor asked as Idril’s gaze flitted between the map and the tunnels ahead of them that led further north. 

     At his words, her eyes roamed over the wounded orc companions that awaited her orders, who she knew would follow her as far as she dared go if she asked them to. After a moment, she nodded. No more blood would be spilled today.

     “Let us return.”

     “So you’ve been able to talk normally this entire time and didn’t say anything?!”

     “You would not be asking me this if you knew any Black Speech.”

     Ratbag ogled at an indifferent Az-Harto, who walked next to him with his arms crossed. Udun was as they remembered it; the almost lifeless gray landscape of rocky cliffs and dirt trails were not a sight the pair had missed. The region had been strangely quiet since they’d entered it. The pair had expected to find an army awaiting them, the area crawling with hundreds of orcs and forcing them to sneak their way to the Black Gate. Instead, it felt almost… empty.

     “So all these years you’ve just been, what, watching me struggle for fun? When you could’ve said something?”

     He received a half smile in response, a sharp tooth peeking out from Az-Harto’s upper lip.

     “I found your flailing amusing, yes.”

     “Flailing?!”

     “I owe you a life debt. Keeping you alive does not have to involve speaking this disgraceful Common Tongue all the time.”

     The pair stopped short of a tired, but eager looking patrol standing between them and the Black Gate in the distance, the first beings they’d encountered in what felt like far too long. Ratbag quickly schooled his expression into something more serious, glowering at the orcs that blocked their path.

     “Who goes there? Is it your turn to keep watch?”

     The words were slurred and a little slow, and a closer look at the five Uruk-hai revealed bright, naïve eyes and forge-fresh weapons and armor that had likely never seen a single battle.

     “Don’t you insolent globs know who I am? I’m—Wait a minute.” Ratbag nudged Az-Harto with a look of confusion. “Is there something different about them, Ranger?” he whispered.

     “They are unnatural, newly made. A few weeks old at most. Pashkshu Shar-ku,” he spat. “They know nothing.”

     “We can take advantage of that, can’t we? I mean, I can do the talking, you can be all mean and scary looking.” Ratbag’s eyes lit up with the spark of an idea. “Hey, remember when we were turning warchiefs and captains against each other in Seregost? What if we did that with a fresh batch of Uruks? Who knows? Maybe we could even make them report to us, all official-like!”

     “Yes… They will make fine worms for us.”

     “Exactly!”

     Ratbag turned back towards the patrol and dramatically proclaimed, “Listen up, you maggots! I am Ratbag the Bone Collector. Ratbag the Butcher. Ratbag the Destroyer! You stand before one of the most feared and respected warchiefs in all of Mordor!” He turned to Az-Harto with a wicked grin. “This here is the great Olog, Ranger the Slaughterer. He’s seen and won thousands of battles, defeated the mightiest of armies, and together, we’re unstoppable!”

     The orcs looked to them in awe, absorbing every word. Az-Harto snarled, holding back a satisfied smile at the way they cowered, shuffling backwards a few steps.

     “Haha! If you scare that easily, it’s no wonder you’re out here guarding a way that no one comes. Now, what have your, uh… trainers told you about what we’re doing here?”

     “We serve Saruman, the Great Wizard of Isengard—”

     “Wrong! See, that was your very first test: who do you serve? And you failed! Miserably! It’s a wonder they didn’t send you out here with just the muck you were born in! No no no. You don’t serve Saruman. You serve the Bright Lord. The Gravewalker! You’ve heard of him, right?”

     “Uh—”

     “Doesn’t matter! By the time we’re through with you, you’ll be the most up to date, well prepared orcs in Udun!” He stood proudly, a mischievous smirk on his face. “You’ll be able to help us take the Black Gate in no time!”

XxX

     They had been on the road for several days. Rolling green hills turned into plains of tall grasses occasionally interrupted by rocky slopes, ever framed by the White Mountains and the Fords of Isen. So far, the people of Rohan hadn’t encountered anyone or anything else on their way to Helm’s Deep. There was much worry and unrest, but they had faith in their king to lead them to safety, and had made good progress towards their destination. Eltariel found Aragorn lost in thought towards the front of the group, and she matched his pace, settling beside him. Their horses parted the crowd and provided them with a small bubble of semi-privacy. Aragorn subtly acknowledged her presence, but said nothing. Eltariel smiled sadly as she observed his face.

     “You dreamt of her,” she stated simply, and it was this that drew Aragorn’s gaze to her in surprise. Eltariel laughed softly. “I’ve spent enough time with Talion to know when something like that has happened. You miss her greatly.” Her eyes fell on the Evenstar, and the necklace shone beautifully in the early afternoon sun. “Will she sail?”

     “I don’t think Elrond is giving her a choice,” Aragorn answered after a few moments, feeling his heart clench in his chest.

     Eltariel huffed.

     “It is not his choice to make. The half-elven may choose to live mortal lives if they wish, and if her mind is made up, I’m sure she will stay for you.”

     “You underestimate Elrond’s stubbornness,” Aragorn told her with a small smile.

     “Then you must underestimate just how much she loves you.” 

     There was an awkward silence between the two after that.

     “And what do you know of love?” Aragorn asked her calmly, genuinely curious, and Eltariel sighed.

     “Not nearly as much as I’d like. Only what I’ve heard and seen.” She cast her gaze down at her three fingered hand with a complicated expression. “I spent many years in Talion’s company. He has loved Celebrimbor for far longer than he might admit. I have watched him glare down Sauron at the top of Barad-dûr without fear, with the promise to free Celebrimbor and Middle-earth from his influence. I have watched him take hold of the New Ring and find new resolve and hope and light despite the whispers of Isildur’s Ring and the One Ring alike.” She met Aragorn’s gaze then, unwavering. “It is love that drives him and keeps him going, as silly as that may sound. And it is love that will see him through his journey, no matter how it may end.” She smiled again, kindly. “And the love you and Arwen share will bring you both together again.”

     They walked in a comfortable silence for a few minutes after that. Aragorn occasionally watched Legolas scout ahead when his eyes weren’t trained on the hoof and shoe prints from those ahead of them. Finally, he spoke again.

     “And do you have anyone that you love in such a way?”

     Eltariel hesitated at that. Aragorn didn’t expect an answer, but after a few moments she responded softly, thoughtfully.

     “It has been quite some time since I have laid my soul bare to another, to let them see me for all that I am.” She smiled sadly. “I used to think vulnerability was a weakness. I am glad to have been proven wrong time and again.” Her mind flashed briefly to Haldir, to a time when smiling and laughing always came naturally. “I do have someone, but I do not know if he feels the same way…”

     She trailed off at the end of her sentence. Aragorn observed her, so different from the cold, guarded, battle-hardened elf he’d first met at the Ford of Bruinen. Her openness startled him for a moment, and then he remembered Talion’s words from long ago.

      …every day she makes an effort to break old habits, to find herself again. Perhaps, in time, you’ll see it as well.

     Aragorn put a comforting hand on her shoulder then, drawing her gaze.

     “Perhaps you underestimate his love for you as well.”

     Before either of them could speak again, there was a commotion just over the hill in front of them. The frantic neighing of horses and cries of alarm from some of the Rohirrim that had ridden ahead sent Legolas sprinting after them, bow drawn. A quick burst of arrows felled a warg before he slit the throat of the downed orc rider.

     Aragorn quickly caught up with him, witnessing the kill as Legolas shouted, “A scout!”

     “We’re under attack!” Eltariel relayed as Aragorn quickly returned for his horse, both of them riding ahead with Théoden as Éowyn helped lead the Rohirrim away from the fighting.

     All those on horseback rode to meet Legolas, who stood at the top of the hill. He picked off some of the small army of orcs and wargs one after another with impeccable aim before leaping onto his and Gimli’s horse. They all charged to meet them head on, the battle a blur of swords meeting swords, spears and arrows flying through the air. Gimli found himself unseated from his horse, fighting his way out from under a pile of dead orcs and wargs to return to burying his axe in whatever enemy was within reach. Legolas and Eltariel shot the orcs and wargs that threatened to overwhelm those already engaged in combat, arrows and beams of light thinning the horde. Théoden and the Rohirrim managed to hold their own, though not without heavy casualties.

     It was when Eltariel narrowly avoided having her head bitten off, pulling her sword out of a lifeless orc skull, that she saw Aragorn being dragged over the edge of a cliff by a warg. She rode after him, jumping down and skidding to a halt mere steps from where he’d fallen. She could hear Legolas and Gimli worriedly calling Aragorn’s name, sprinting to meet her and following her gaze. Sharp rock formations jutted out of the unrelenting waters below. There was no sign of movement otherwise.

     A dark, choked chuckle sounded behind her, and she turned to see Legolas holding a barely breathing orc by the collar of his armor.

     “He’s… dead.”

     Legolas’ expression of anger turned to that of sorrow as he slowly pried the Evenstar from the orc’s now lifeless hand. She could see him trying to hold himself together, Gimli not much better. In a blink, the initial shock and grief was turned to determined worry. They wanted to stay and look for him.

     Théoden joined them, taking in their expressions of disbelief and despair. He too was trying to keep a neutral expression, and Eltariel watched him take a deep breath to steady his voice.

     “Get the wounded on horses. The wolves of Isengard will return… Leave the dead.”

     Legolas rounded on him in outrage, and Gimli didn’t move a muscle. Eltariel watched Théoden ask them to follow as he headed back to those who remained. As her eyes landed on the Evenstar once again, she blinked away a brief memory of seeing Aragorn and Arwen together during their stay in Rivendell, content and indescribably happy as they walked hand in hand during an evening stroll. Aragorn would not be finished so easily. He would find his way and join them soon, and it was that thought that allowed her to put a hand on both their shoulders with a look of reassurance and calm, gesturing back at the Rohirrim beginning to leave.

     Towering walls of gray stone and reinforced wooden gates that had seen many battles met their sights when they arrived at Helm’s Deep, the fortress standing proudly where it was built into the side of the White Mountains. The exterior had its fair share of marks and scars from weapons of friends and foes, each with a story that would likely never be told if things did not go in their favor in the near future. The keep’s history of near impenetrable defense did not bring the feeling of safety and reassurance that was needed as they walked up the causeway and through the front gate. After passing the courtyard, they took the winding steps up to the fortress of Hornburg, past the statue of Helm Hammerhand, for whom the keep was named after. Blinking away the flashes of the once great lord as a Nazgûl, Eltariel trained her gaze on the people around her and immediately regretted it. She could hardly bear to look at all of the panicked, terrified faces.

     The food they’d managed to secure was scarce. Medical supplies would have to be used sparingly. Morale was low, and those still able to fight were beyond exhausted. The air was heavy with fear and uncertainty, hurried footsteps and a sea of trembling voices making it hard to breathe without a hint of doubt and hopelessness trying to stir within her. She helped Éowyn, who had not taken the news of Aragorn missing well, keeping herself occupied by tending to the wounded and making sure the women and children were as comfortable and safe as possible.

     A day passed after their arrival. The caves underneath Hornburg’s surface were dry and cold, but were as far away from danger as one could be within the keep. It would be there that the women and children would take shelter when battle reached their doorstep. Candles lit the now cramped space, shadows cast across expressions of hopelessness and sorrow.

     Eltariel knew she wasn’t the most hospitable of people, but she did her best to put the people under her care at ease. Appearing calm and collected in the face of grave peril was a skill of hers. She treated wounds and aches with steady hands and words of confidence. She transported and distributed supplies with efficiency and a grace that left eyes trailing after her in awe at making such simple tasks seem so ethereal. She quieted the tears and fears of the frightened children and adolescents with quietly murmured Sindarin and a display of skill.

     “Úthoss, hên. Úthoss. Watch this.”

     She took one of the apples from a quickly diminishing supplies basket, eyes scanning the area before landing on a short stack of crates across the cavern they were in. She lightly tossed the fruit between her hands for a moment before throwing it forcefully at the wall. In the blink of an eye, she drew her dagger and sent it sailing after it. The short blade sank right through the middle of the apple and embedded itself into the cave wall, hovering a few inches above the pile of crates. The clang! of metal against rock startled quite a few people, but the teary eyed child who had been watching looked to her in awe.

     Eltariel walked over to her dagger, taking it and the apple back over to the child, her footsteps almost silent on the rough stone floor beneath her feet, as if she was walking on the air. She kneeled down to the young boy’s level. She recognized him as one of the children Gandalf and Théoden had found at the outskirts of Rohan.

     “Any orc that tries to harm you or anyone else here will end up like this.” She carefully extracted the apple from her dagger, holding it out to him. “No harm will befall you or these people. I swear to you.”

     After a few moments, he met her gaze with a hesitant smile, nodding. He took the offered apple and immediately took a bite, and the resounding crunch broke whatever uncertain quiet that had fallen over the room.

     “How do you know?” It took Eltariel a moment to find the owner of the voice who had asked the question. The mother of the pair of children that had been found cradled her daughter closer, her son returning to her side not long after with the half eaten apple in hand. “How do you know that we’ll win this battle?”

     “Saruman underestimates us. He believes that his orcs will win with overwhelming force, that we are too scared to make a stand and win. He is an arrogant fool who will quickly learn that the people of Rohan are not to be taken so lightly. Myself, my allies, and your king will not let Helm’s Deep fall, nor any of you. Of this I have no doubt.” Eltariel allowed herself a small smile. “Fear not. We will live to see many more days beyond this place.”

     Another day passed, and despite Eltariel reassurance and everyone’s best efforts, fear and tension crescendoed to almost unbearable levels. She had started to lose her concept of time until she saw a familiar face heading their way, smiling in relief. Aragorn looked worse for wear—clothes damp and ragged, a few scrapes and bloody wounds visible beneath torn fabric, movements a bit sluggish and strained—but his eyes were no less bright and determined than they’d been the last time they had seen each other.

     “You’re late,” she heard Legolas tell him as the two friends embraced in one of the halls inside the fortress.

     He handed Aragorn back the Evenstar, and it was in that moment that Éowyn halted in her tracks beside her, face of great joy falling into a strained, yet still genuine smile. Aragorn looked their way and nodded in greeting before heading towards the fortress’ main hall to speak to Théoden. Eltariel nodded back, leaving to follow, patting Éowyn’s shoulder in… comfort? She hoped it was somewhat comforting. The shieldmaiden was quite smitten with Aragorn, and that would only end in heartbreak for her.

     Familiar banners hung behind the throne in the hall, just like in Rohan, but that was the only source of color next to the otherwise dark and drab stone around them. At least ten thousand Uruks, Aragorn reported seeing on his way to Helm’s Deep. They would be there by nightfall. How long had Saruman been preparing for this? Théoden quickly shook off his shock at the information, immediately springing into action with a confidence that made the members of the Fellowship uneasy. All of the able bodied men and boys were to be ready to defend by nightfall, and Théoden seemed quite confident that they could hold the enemy out.

     “This is no rabble of mindless orcs. These are Uruk-hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad.”

     Théoden didn’t take too kindly to Gimli’s words, bristling as he replied, “I have fought in many wars, master dwarf. I know how to defend my own keep.”

     Eltariel couldn’t hide her glare at his overconfidence that was bordering on arrogance. He had no idea what an army of the more powerful of Isengard’s forces was capable of, and it was making her patience wear thin. They would tear them all to pieces if something other than waiting wasn’t done. She was glad Aragorn could voice those thoughts to Théoden more calmly than she could, though that soon revealed that the king was more worried and resigned to defeat than he’d been letting on, very aware that this was a threat they weren’t prepared for. He thought them beyond help, without any allies. But Eltariel and Aragorn knew that was wrong.

      Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east.

     Those were the words Gandalf had spoken to them in the stables before their departure from Rohan. Help would come. It was simply a question of what state they would be in to receive it.

XxX

     “You were a Ranger of the Black Gate, yes?” Boromir asked.

     “I was. A captain, in fact,” Talion replied.

     Luinil was currently off hunting, leaving the two sitting side by side on a high rocky cliff to admire the soft shades of gold, orange, and pink painted across the sky by the setting sun. The soft rustling of the tall grasses around them followed a light breeze. Osgiliath was only another day’s travel from where they would settle for the night.

     Boromir smiled, humming in satisfaction.

     “Talion, Captain of Gondor. Your family must have been quite proud.”

     Talion laughed sadly.

     “My parents died not too long after I came of age. My father fell ill one summer and passed the following winter. My mother passed from heartbreak not too long after. And my father-in-law… Well, the noble Captain of the Black Gate would rather have thrown me to the executioners himself than see me marry his daughter.”

     “Ah. I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”

     “It’s alright. I don’t think I’ve talked much about my life before…” He gestured to himself with a short laugh. “I killed a nobleman who attacked my wife, and my life belonged to Gondor. My father-in-law retired from his position at the Black Gate at around the same time, and for my wife’s sake, he sent us there so that I could take his place with the Rangers. Our son was born soon after, and it was there that we spent the rest of our days. He wanted to join the Rangers when he came of age, a few years after I was promoted to captain. He would have, if…”

     That night atop the Black Gate was always crystal clear in his mind, as if it had only happened yesterday, no matter how much time passed. He blinked away the images of their empty eyes and the pools of blood beneath their bodies, shivering at the feeling of his knees digging into unforgiving stone, icy rain beating against his skin, and a sharp blade slicing open his neck.

      You will never see your family again. So why do you fight it? Why do you not heed the call of the Dark Lord and succumb to blissful darkness unending? It would take but a moment, and all of those memories, that soul-rending agony, would disappear forever.

     Talion’s gaze snapped to Isildur’s Ring, eyes briefly flaring crimson in anger at the harshly glowing jewel upon his finger.

     “Even now, he speaks to you?”

     The red faded from Talion’s eyes at the question, though the black veins spider-webbing across his face remained. Boromir looked to him in concern, and Talion was relieved to see no sign of desire alongside it.

     “Even now,” he confirmed.

     An awkward silence fell between them before Boromir took a few sips from his waterskin and cleared his throat.

     “I only asked earlier because Gondor will need good and honorable men to help them rebuild and to keep them safe from what remains of Sauron’s forces after all of this is over.”

     Boromir traced the patterns in the rock underneath his fingertips, swirling lines of black and gray melding seamlessly into the white of the cliffside. He repeated the motion mindlessly, eyes trained on the quickly darkening sky tinged with various shades of blue and purple.

     “If that is something you desire. And I understand, as well, if you instead wish to live peacefully, away from the fighting, after we reach this journey’s end. Whatever you decide, I will see it done.”

     Talion laid a hand on Boromir’s shoulder in thanks and in apology.

     “I do not know what truly awaits me at the end, only what I’ve seen.”

     “A vision?”

     “Of fire and darkness, of falling from the sky and feeling life leave my body once more…”

     Boromir’s hand curled into fists, scraping against the jagged stone in his anger.

     “I will not lose anyone else. I will not.”

     “Boromir…”

     “Your vision is not the end. Just as you prevented my great peril from coming to pass, so shall I yours. You will not meet your true death in those cursed lands, not while there is still life in me.”

      But what can he do against fate? came the Witch King’s response, and Talion smiled again.

     “My fate is my own,” he whispered, a reminder to himself of the vow he’d made over a year ago. “You are right,” Talion told Boromir. “I remember you saying you would give me a tour of the White City one day. I will hold you to that.” Boromir grinned. “And perhaps Gondor could make use of my skills yet.”

     Luinil returned with a short cry, blue tipped wings stirring up their cloaks and hair as she landed a short distance behind them. She stretched like a very large reptilian cat before curling up and making herself comfortable. Talion snorted as she patted his head with the end of her tail in greeting, playfully swatting it away as she huffed in what was almost like a chuckle. Boromir laughed at the brief exchange, he and Talion getting up and settling down against her to rest for the night.

XxX

     Three hundred against ten thousand… It wasn’t hard to see why so many despaired. Even Legolas seemed to have reached his breaking point in an outburst with Aragorn as more people emerged from the armory, scared, shaken, and most likely holding a weapon for the first time in their lives. When the first child arrived to be outfitted… Time seemed to drag in those moments, the spread of hopelessness from person to person lasting what felt like an age. Tempers flared, spirits broke. Calm and hope were scarce within the keep.

     Night had fallen when the four former Fellowship members were together again in the same room, donning their armor and readying their weapons. Legolas gently handed Aragorn his sword, an apology on his lips.

     “We have trusted you this far. You have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair.”

     Aragorn smiled, clasping his hand on Legolas’ shoulder.

     “There is nothing to forgive, Legolas.”

     What tension there was between them quickly dissipated at that, especially when Gimli re-entered the room in chainmail that looked more like a dress than armor. Whatever humorous remark that was about to be shared was cut off by the sound of a horn, a familiar one that made Eltariel grin.

     “That is no orc horn,” Legolas told them.

     “No,” Eltariel agreed. “That is the horn of Lothlórien.”

     They rushed outside to see a large battalion of elves armed with the finest bows in eastern Middle-earth filing into Helm’s Deep up the entry causeway and through the gates, cloaks helping them blend into the night covering well made and sturdy golden armor. Leading them was Haldir, whose scarlet cape stood out against the otherwise dim and dark surroundings. He regarded a shocked Théoden kindly.

     “I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago, we fought and died together.” His eyes met that of each former member of the Fellowship’s as they descended a set of stairs to join Théoden and the rest of those fighting in the battle. He and Eltariel held each other’s gazes as he said, “We come to honor that allegiance.”

     Aragorn greeted Haldir quite excitedly, embracing him after a more formal elven greeting. Legolas greeted him a bit calmer, but just as welcoming. He and Gimli nodded at each other. With Eltariel, he shared a soft and genuine smile that she couldn’t help but return as she stood at his side, briefly taking his hand in hers.

     “Your arrival is most welcome, mellon nin,” she told him warmly.

     Haldir looked to Théoden again as his troops turned and awaited commands.

     “We are proud to fight alongside men once more.”

     They all took up positions along the Deeping Wall, looking out at a steadily approaching force that had no end in sight. They wore armor darker than midnight, carried torches and banners with the White Hand of Saruman that waved erratically in the quickening breeze. Thunder rumbled and lightning crackled in time with the heavy cadence of Uruk-hai footsteps as the sky opened up, drenching everyone as the army stopped a fair distance away from the walls. They gave deep battle cries that echoed ominously throughout the area as they pounded their weapons into the ground.

     Archers readied their bows, and as the sound intensified, a lone arrow flew and struck an Uruk in the front line. Several disbelieving stares were directed at the poor soldier whose hands were violently shaking. The inhabitants of Helm’s Deep had only a few moments' warning before the enemy began to charge.

     The elves fired arrows on Aragorn’s signal, and the men on Théoden’s, aimed at the neck and under the arms—the weak point of Uruk armor—at Legolas’ word. The soil beneath the usually green plains below would be soaked through with rain and dark blood before the night was over. Several more orcs replaced each one that fell in an instant, and it wasn’t long before crossbows fired back at the top of the walls. Ladders were raised in an attempt to breach their defenses, and Gimli welcomed them, striking the first melee blow with his axe as bows became replaced with swords. Fighting began on the wall, not a still body in sight except one.

     Eltariel closed her eyes and focused on everything she could hear: the impact of the rain, the clanging of metal on metal, rallying cries, pained screams, the thud of armor on stone, the howling, whipping wind, the echoes of battle against the structure of the keep, her racing heartbeat and deep breaths. The odds weren’t in their favor. Many lives would be lost tonight and she could easily be one of them, but as long as she had breath in her body, she would not let the people of Rohan or the elves of Lothlórien die in vain. She unsheathed her blades and spun around to behead one of the orcs who had been charging towards her, eyes slowly opening and taking in the sights around her, letting her body flow with the tide of the battle.

     Eltariel fought her way towards the middle of the wall where her companions were. It was there that the fighting was the thickest, and her blades found weak spots in armor almost too easily. She fended off what orcs she could that were targeting the archers covering the causeway, perhaps a bit too eager for a fight after so much time spent traveling as of late. She couldn’t help the smile that rose to her face as she overheard Gimli and Legolas keeping score of how many kills they had.

     “I’m on seventeen!” Legolas proclaimed against Gimli’s mere two.

     With a bold cry, she leapt in the air, a blast of light clearing the area and scorching orcs even through their armor.

     “Twenty!” Eltariel called to them both, Gimli and Legolas exchanging surprised glances.

     “I’ll have no pointy-ear outscoring me!”

      Her smile at Gimli’s declaration soon faded as defender orcs quickly made their way up the causeway, the crack! of a battering ram against the wooden front gates reverberating through the air.

     Aragorn’s panicked shouting in Sindarin caught Eltariel’s attention. She followed his gaze and the trajectory of Legolas’ arrows to a sapper orc rushing at the walls with a lit explosive. Arrows barely slowed him down, and as he leapt out of sight it was as if the world stood still for a moment, everyone’s heart skipping a beat in horror as a large section of the Deeping Wall was blown to rubble, shaking the entire keep with the force of an earthquake. Everyone was thrown to the ground, scrambling to get back to their feet as the fighting continued.

     Eltariel’s ears rang as she tried to clear her head, the Light of Galadriel protecting her from the worst of the blast, even if her head was still pounding from the impact. She stood a bit unsteadily, in time to see Gimli dive from the wall onto a pile of Uruks near a downed Aragorn, who recovered quickly enough to lead the small elven force behind him in an assault against the orcs flooding the now gaping hole in their ultimate defense.

     For the first time since the start of the battle, doubt crept into Eltariel’s mind, and she had to remind herself to stay focused. Orcs swarmed the wall still, and she couldn't afford to stand idly by and watch what was happening below, or worry about how badly things could go wrong. The enemy poured its seemingly infinite number into the battle, fresh fighters against quickly tiring soldiers and those experiencing their first (and for some, their last) battle. Each swing and step seemed to sap more energy than the last, movements becoming heavy with weariness. The rain was soaking her to the bone and obscuring her vision, the wind attempting to upset her balance. She felt herself slip on slick stone, narrowly avoiding losing an arm as she rolled through an attack, slashing the opposing orc’s abdomen and hearing the corpse hit the ground behind her.

     She heard Aragorn’s call to retreat to the keep as they all began to become overwhelmed. Haldir repeated the cry to fall back, making sure as many elves as possible were heeding his words. Several orcs closed in on him as he became the slowest moving target in the vicinity. He realized too late that he was greatly outnumbered, and that his only path to safety was through them. As he engaged them, it became very apparent that the numbers were too much, and before long, Eltariel moved before she even registered what she was doing, her only concern being to get to Haldir in time.

     Her legs and arms burned as she sprinted as fast as she possibly could towards the orc raising a sword to her childhood best friend’s back. She knew better than to call his name, knowing the distraction would only seal his fate. With a mighty leap, she brought her blades down with all of her strength, feeling her flesh tear open from cold, sharp orc steel. She let out an agonized scream, and a shout of panic from Haldir saw several butchered orcs fall lifelessly to the ground not long after.

     It was then that everything around Eltariel once again seemed to freeze as she felt her blades slip from her grasp, a strong pair of arms catching her as she collapsed, two halves of an orc head lying at her feet. Only when she met Haldir’s eyes did time resume at normal speed, and though the world sounded muffled and far away, his voice was loud and clear to her ears.

     “Eltariel! By the Valar, what have you done?!”

     Haldir’s despairing expression turned to one of confusion as Eltariel chuckled weakly, her lopsided smile reminiscent of the one she wore so often in their youth. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the relief in her eyes because he was unharmed and alive.

     “I would never have forgiven myself, if something had happened to you… when I… could have been there…”

     She coughed up blood as she struggled to get her words out. He smoothed her hair away from her face with a shaky, bloodstained hand and shushed her softly.

     “Save your strength. I must get you away from the fighting.”

     As he went to pick her up, she weakly shoved his arms away.

     “No! I’ll only be a burden. You can’t swing a sword with me in your arms.”

      “Im avawartha cin, Eltariel!” he told her adamantly, lifting her up and into his arms. “Maethor!” he shouted to one of the elves not far off. “Na nin!”

     Quickly following his command, the soldier rushed to his side as Haldir ran as fast as he could towards the keep. He would not let her die here. Not like this!

     All the while, Eltariel’s arms hung loosely around Haldir’s neck. With every passing moment, it became harder to stay awake. She let her eyes fall to her chest plate to see a river of blood, flowing towards the ground like the rain around her. She managed another weak chuckle. Dying in battle wasn’t the worst way to go, especially if it was protecting someone she cared about. Her vision swam as she desperately clung to consciousness, watching the battlefield become littered with more and more corpses of their allies. She heard the crumbling of the gate as the orcs broke through, and more calls to retreat, this time from Théoden himself. Her eyes briefly fell on Aragorn, who had made it to Haldir’s side, speaking too fast for her to follow in her current state. Her vision went black.

     The next thing she knew she was lying on the floor of the caves, her body feeling as if it were on fire, breaths painful and shallow. She picked Éowyn out of the crowd of scurrying women and children, comforting a crying mother as the doors started to fail. She let out a quiet groan as she was picked up, being carried and taken with the others who were leaving. She saw Aragorn rallying Theoden, the two of them mounting their horses for what she assumed would be the final ride out into the battle. They charged as the doors finally gave way, but what her eyes lingered on was the stream of sunlight filtering in through the windows.

      Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day.

     Gandalf. Gandalf was here. Then they would survive after all. Not all was lost. She let her eyes slip shut one more time with the knowledge that her companions would be in good hands.

     That day, she would not wake again.

Translations

(Black Speech): Pashkshu Shar-ku → Vermin of Saruman

(Black Speech): Shâ'vadyash mozob. Pûr'muk ungur nash! → You will not walk away from this. Your escape is death!

(S): Úthoss, hên. Úthoss. → Fear not, child. Fear not.

(S): mellon nin → my friend

(S): Im avawartha cin → I will not leave you

(S): Maethor → Warrior/Soldier

(S): Na nin! → To me!

Chapter Text

Finding Hope

     Anticipation thrummed through Talion and Boromir as Luinil flew with otherworldly speed towards Osgiliath. Talion’s eyes were fixed on the first signs of the sun beginning its descent in the sky before the sound of distant battle met his ears. Luinil’s low growl cut through the loud whistling wind that whipped around them, heat flaring in her throat at the sight below them.

     “Boromir.”

     Talion’s voice startled Boromir out of his thoughts. He followed Talion’s downward gaze.

     A ravaged city that had seen many battles met their eyes. Crumbling gray—once white but now stained by ash and ruin—stone towers and arches barely broke through the scattered thick clouds of smoke around them. Catapult shots devastated bridges, staircases, and buildings alike, large boulders cutting off paths and closing off routes of escape. A large battalion of orcs marched from the east, vastly outnumbering the men stationed there. The pair could point out the bows, swords, and shields of Gondor from the horde that steadily pushed the soldiers back. Boromir gave a pained cry as he watched his men fall.

     “We must help them!”

     Talion entered the Wraith World, pinpointing the bulk of the orcs in the city that hadn’t yet reached the men of Gondor. The writhing silver mass in his vision would be made an example of.

     “There,” he told Luinil, pointing with Urfael, and she sharply changed direction, diving with a roar that shook the nerves of men and orcs alike.

     Everyone in the city looked up at the sky, and Talion gave a war cry as they shot by in a blue and white blur, a column of fire easily mowing down a hundred orcs. Boromir held onto him for dear life as he watched the tide of the battle turn in Gondor’s favor.

     Below them, Frodo and Sam were hidden from sight, and Faramir’s eyes tracked the new presence that had just given them hope for victory. Two riders sat atop the fire drake circling back around towards them. They were too far to make out faces, but something akin to hope swelled in Faramir’s chest for the first time since his vision of his brother’s death.

     “For Gondor!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, his men rallying behind him as they began pushing the orcs back out of the city.

     The soldiers fought with renewed energy as Luinil’s fire stoked the flames of hope within them, another group of orcs meeting a fiery death as the trio passed by again.

     Boromir looked down in relief at the shout, letting out a watery laugh as he recognized Faramir’s voice. Talion looked back at him with an almost smile before a sudden wave of agony flared through him, eyes flying to Isildur’s Ring. There was an unnatural chill in the air and an intense feeling of dread that settled in everyone’s guts before a blood-curdling, terrifying screech reverberated through the area.

     “Nazgûl,” Talion realized in horror.

     The Ringwraith cloaked in black flew over the city on a fellbeast. The creature was like a flying serpent, with scaleless, rough skin and a spiky spine. Its wings were like ripped, battleworn leather, and its dark, curved claws were as sharp and large as swords. It paid no mind to the arrows lodged in its flesh, or to Talion, Boromir, and Luinil. Small, beady black eyes were firmly set on the small figure that had walked out of a building onto a bridge of stone in the middle of the city. Talion and Boromir would recognize him anywhere.

     Frodo.

     Without a word, Luinil sped in his direction. The fellbeast bared its dagger-like teeth as it swooped down, claws outstretched towards a Frodo frozen in fear.

     When they were above them, Talion looked to Boromir and told him firmly, “Go help our people.”

     “What?” Boromir barely had time to ask before Talion leapt into the air, Urfael aimed at the heart of the Nazgûl.

     Talion saw Sam grab Frodo, pulling him out of the way and tumbling back out of sight, and the fellbeast shrieked in protest as he landed on its back, taking them high above the battles below. He grunted in pain as a glove clad hand caught his sword arm, the other wrenching his head back in an attempt to make him let go of Urfael. That hand met Acharn, the dagger easily piercing through spectral flesh. A monstrous scream of agony made everything in him want to cover his ears, but he managed to hold onto both of his blades, twisting them free before slamming both into the Nazgûl’s skull with as much force as he could muster, a wraith doubling his actions for good measure. There was a burst of bright green light as the Nazgûl in front of him dissipated, essence escaping back to Minas Morgul in defeat, and Talion found himself plummeting through the air.

     Boromir desperately clung to scales and spikes as Luinil continued raining fire on the orcs. She occasionally swooped down to grab a clawful of particularly tough ones to devour at her pleasure or rip to shreds. When Boromir found enough courage to tell her to fly low, he unsheathed his sword and hacked away at any foul creatures within reach. In the knick of time, they reached a surrounded Faramir, who quickly found himself alone again as Luinil scooped up his attackers in a blur of white and blue. He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion for a moment before moving to rejoin the fray. Boromir spotted Talion tumbling from the sky, Luinil roaring in concern at the sight before Talion was seated back in front of him in a swirl of green magic, Boromir nearly sent tumbling in shock.

     “The Nazgûl! Where—”

     “Defeated, for now. It and the fellbeast won’t trouble us again for some time.” Talion cast his eyes back towards the battle, which was beginning to look like a route victory against the orcs. “Shall we end this?”

     Boromir nodded, startling at the sudden heat that engulfed them before watching a massive fireball shoot towards the orcs grouped just beyond the eastern shore, its impact leaving behind a scorched crater and many incinerated corpses. The orcs that remained ran back in the direction they came. Archers picked off as many as they could. Most of the orcs that escaped were wounded, burned, bleeding, or missing a limb. Luinil gave a shriek of excitement at their retreat, Talion laughing and patting her gently on the neck. A tense quiet fell over Osgiliath before it dawned on everyone else that they’d won. Soon shouts of victory broke out among the exhausted men on the ground, and one in particular—with bright blue eyes, hair the deep shade of honey, and the White Tree of Gondor shining brightly in the sunset on his breastplate—broke away from the rest to look up at them. Luinil landed on the bridge where Frodo had stood before, and Talion and Boromir climbed down from her back.

     “I think I’ve had my fill of flying through the air,” Boromir told him, a bit unsteady on his feet after spending so long not on solid ground.

     “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it?” Talion teased, feeling a bit guilty that he’d left Boromir to fly alone during the battle.

     “I can and will!” Boromir exclaimed with a short laugh, nodding in gratitude at the steadying hand on his shoulder. “I will take a horse over a fire drake any day!”

     Talion fussed over the mess on Luinil’s scales. They were covered in dried orc blood, soot, and dirt, with various kinds of small vegetation and rocks wedged between some. He removed what he could reach, but he would have to get the rest of it sometime later, when there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. She didn’t seem very bothered, if she noticed it at all, but Talion would have her as comfortable as he could make her with all the flying and fighting she would be doing soon.

     The two watched battered and bruised men sweep through the city, assessing the damage, tending to the wounded, and making sure everyone was accounted for.

     “You are leaving. Aren’t you?” Boromir asked him when a few minutes had passed.

     He couldn’t hide his disappointment when he received a slow nod in response.

     “I must. A visit home will have to wait.”

     Boromir had known when he mentioned visiting Minas Tirith before that that might be the case. He’d dared to hope there would be more time, but Sauron and Mordor waited for no one. It was then that Frodo and Sam peaked above the stairs leading from where they had been hiding, Sam hurrying up to meet them in excited shock.

     “Talion! Boromir!”

     The sound of his brother’s name carried on the wind, and Faramir looked up to where Sam was running out to, quickly following. He stopped where he was just enough steps up to take in the sights before him. Talion leaned down to embrace Sam with a warm and worried greeting, Boromir looking away and taking a few steps back. He had a feeling Sam would be less than pleased to see him.

     “Boromir?”

     He looked up to see Frodo at the top of the stairs, eyes disbelieving and hopeful.

     “Frodo,” Boromir whispered, slowly approaching him. Frodo held his gaze as Boromir fell to his knees and held him close as tears fell from his eyes. Frodo returned the embrace after a moment, happiness breaking through his initial shock and panic from earlier events. “Please forgive me, Frodo. Forgive me for my actions at Amon Hen. I swore to protect you, to keep you safe and see this journey through. I’m the one who frightened you away, pushed you to take this path, sent you into danger by yourself…”

     “There is nothing to forgive, Boromir,” Frodo told him, feeling more grounded and like himself than he’d felt in far too long. “I know you would never cause me harm. The Ring tempted you, twisted your fears and desires to drive you to madness. There is no shame in that, and you are not the only one it has ensnared.”

     “I should have been stronger.” He pulled back, furiously wiping at his eyes. “I should have been able to resist, to be there for you.”

     “You did resist. You were strong enough to stop yourself from trying to take it, and you are here now. I am safe thanks to your arrival.” Frodo gave him a small smile, and Boromir hesitantly returned it. “You needn’t apologize or feel guilty any longer.”

     With that, Frodo went to Talion’s side to greet him, and something in Sam’s expression eased as the three fell into conversation.

     It was then that Boromir looked to the new figure who had made their way up the stairs, to a face he didn’t know if he would ever see again. It was the face he’d known since early childhood, in peacetime and in war, on the battlefield and in their home, a presence that hardly left his side and whose side he rarely left unless absolutely necessary. As he stood, he saw brief flashbacks of the last time they were both here, after a great victory that resulted in ale drinking and a brief moment of celebration before they were separated once more, Denethor sending Boromir and a small group of their men to Rivendell.

     Faramir saw brief flashbacks of his vision of Boromir laid to rest on the river Anduin. Looking now, he saw that half of the Horn of Gondor was strapped to his brother’s belt. He openly sobbed as he finally locked eyes with Boromir, alive and well only a few feet away. Faramir stumbled forward and collapsed in his arms, holding tightly to him and not daring to let go. Boromir was equally relieved and terrified, burying his face in Faramir’s shoulder and latching onto him with an iron grip. Neither men could bear the thought of this being a dream, a cruel and fleeting dream to break their spirits in an already dark and dire time.

     “I saw you dead,” Faramir whispered brokenly through tears when he recovered his ability to speak, sorrow briefly overwhelming him. “You floated down the river Anduin in an elven boat, laid to rest with your sword placed atop your chest. There were so many wounds. And the Horn… cleaved in two. I found half of it and I… I thought…”

     “I am here. I am real, Faramir. I promised to come back to you alive, and I have.”

     Faramir pulled back enough to look him in the eyes again.

     “My visions… they have never been wrong before. I was so certain I would never see you again.”

     Boromir gently wiped his tears away, expression soft and loving.

     “I should have died, several times over. There was a battle at Amon Hen. I should have been skewered by crossbow bolts as we were overrun by orcs. But… a friend saved me. He told me that I would return to you, and to not lose hope.”

     Boromir looked back at Talion, who watched them with a genuine smile. Faramir followed his gaze with a chuckle.

     “Your fire drake riding friend. Was he a part of your traveling group when you set out from Rivendell?”

     Boromir smiled fondly.

     “Yes, and I am very glad that he was.”

     Talion sensed he was the topic of their conversation, walking over to them and stopping a few steps away. The brothers disentangled from each other, Faramir clearing his throat and wiping at his face.

     “I owe you many thanks, friend. The battle here today would not have been won without your aid. You saved my life, the lives of my men, the halflings… and my brother.” He met Talion’s eyes with overwhelming gratitude. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

     “Thank you for not shooting us out of the sky,” Talion replied, and the three shared laughs at that, before Talion’s tone turned serious. “But I’m afraid I cannot stay. I came to deliver Boromir to you, and to continue to help guide and protect Frodo and Sam on their journey to Mordor.”

     Faramir observed him for a few moments, a sudden spark of intrigue in his eyes.

     “I take it you know Mordor well?”

     “I do.”

     Faramir smiled kindly.

     “I have heard and read many tales. The Ranger of the Black Gate. The Gravewalker. A man who defies death as he battles the forces of evil within Mordor to protect Middle-earth. Gondor thanks you for all that you do, Talion. When your fight is over, I hope you can one day join us in Minas Tirith.”

     “I’d like that,” Talion told him. “When there is finally peace again, I would be honored.”

     It was then that Faramir went to Sam and Frodo, kneeling in front of the pair with warmth in his eyes. They regarded him with weary smiles. Despite his grief and suspicion regarding Boromir (who he’d thought dead at the time) upon their first meeting, Faramir had been just, patient, and kind to them—even to Gollum—for most of their time together.

     “If Mordor is your destination, there is a way out of the city that will keep you out of sight for a time, with a fairly straightforward path to the Black Gate. I would take you to it, if that’s alright?”

     Frodo nodded, and Faramir followed his gaze to Talion, who turned to Luinil and gave her an apologetic pat.

     “I will call if trouble arises, but they need you more than I do, right now. Look after them for me.”

     She gave a sad warble, but relented. Talion met Frodo and Faramir’s gazes before joining the Mordor bound trio.

     “I shall see you off as well,” Boromir told them, and Faramir began to lead them away.

     Talion caught a familiar pair of spying eyes, feeling irritation bubble up within him at the fact that Gollum had found his way to the hobbit pair at some point during their journey. He either hadn’t noticed Talion’s presence or hadn’t bothered to comment on it in front of the others, dutifully sticking close to Sam and Frodo. He, Boromir, and Faramir received many respectful nods and words of thanks from the men they passed as Faramir brought them to what looked like a tunnel entrance.

     “The old sewer,” Boromir observed.

     “It runs right under the river through to the edge of the city,” Faramir told them. “You’ll find cover in the woods there. What route will you take once you reach them?”

     “Gollum says there’s a path, through Minas Morgul, that climbs up into the mountains,” Frodo answered.

     Faramir and Boromir stiffened at that, and Talion gave a silent sigh.

     “Cirith Ungol?” Faramir rounded on Gollum, regarding him with a suspicious look in his eyes. “Is that its name?”

     “No! Nooo!” Gollum cried, cowering under the now combined glares from the brothers. Boromir had only spent the walk here in the presence of him, but that alone was enough to deduce that Gollum was not at all a trustworthy individual. “Yeeesss…” he admitted. “It is the only way. Master says we must go to Mordor, so we must try!” 

     Faramir looked ready to berate him before Talion interrupted.

     “I know your reservations about it,” he began. “But the Black Gate will be swarming with orcs. When we first departed from Mordor, a companion and I barely made it through Udun and past the gate before we were shot from the sky. Trying to enter that way isn’t an option. The many tales told of Cirith Ungol strike fear into the hearts of all who listen. They warn of great terrors and evils, but it has been under my control for decades. Once we get past its borders, there should be no concern of harm. I won’t let anything happen to them.” 

     Faramir regarded him carefully for a few moments, nodding in satisfaction at what he saw.

     It was then that he turned to the others and told them, “I hope this is not our last meeting. Farewell, Talion, Frodo, Sam… Gollum. Go with the goodwill of all Men.”

     “May your travels be swift, your hope unwavering, and may we meet again in less dire times,” Boromir added softly.

     “Thank you,” Frodo told them sincerely.

     Sam followed after him as he led the way, Gollum behind him and Talion bringing up the rear. The brothers watched them disappear, and Faramir took in Boromir’s stricken expression when he looked to him.

     “You mean not to follow?”

     Boromir slowly shook his head.

     “I have done enough harm, and I would only slow them down. I will be of more use here.” He looked to Faramir now. “And perhaps I am selfish in saying there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

     Faramir brought their foreheads together, the two of them wrapped in a tight embrace again. They stood there for a few moments in a comfortable silence, taking the opportunity to just appreciate the other’s company again after so much time apart.

     “Will you return to Minas Tirith with me? I’m sure you’d much rather rest in your chambers than here.”

     “Father bid me not to return unless I brought him back his “mighty gift” from our quest. I would face nothing but anger and disappointment were I to go, especially since I spent so much time in proximity with Frodo and the Ring and have nothing to show for it.” He sighed. “I would remain here with the men. As far as father and anyone else in the city is concerned, I am still traveling with the Fellowship that set out from Rivendell. Or…”

     His gaze fell to his half of the Horn of Gondor, and he plucked it from his belt. Faramir’s eyes went wide and he took a step back.

     “You would have him think you’re dead?”

     “The thought has crossed my mind. Perhaps that would be better than listening to his power hungry ramblings and his cruel remarks about you.”

     “The grief would drive him mad. He would be inconsolable, and who knows what would happen then? I’d rather we stick with the idea of you still traveling. No one will speak of your presence or involvement here if we but ask.” Boromir nodded in agreement, conflicted, but certain in his decision, replacing his half of the Horn on his belt again. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

     “Yes.”

     Faramir gave a small smile then.

     “Then it shall be done. Come. Let us address our men.”

XxX

      Eltariel was back on the top of Barad-dûr, dressed in battered armor that was falling apart. Magic chains that sapped her strength and weighed down her every movement reminded her of her failure with each passing day. Blurred was her vision, ears softly ringing as she came to. Her normally vivid memory was infected with fear and agony, with a rabid panic that had her blinking away crucial moments in favor of avoiding reliving them. She felt Talion scoop her up in his arms, the two of them soaring through the air as he leapt off the tower. Luinil’s warmth wasn’t quite enough to stave off the unnatural cold that chilled her to the core of her being, and she shivered violently.

     Her eyes flickered shut as she swam in and out of half-consciousness, wondering if she would survive the trip. She had the strangest dreams, of a beautiful woman she’d never met, and a young man. The Talion in her dreams was younger, happier. Alive. He called the woman Ioreth and the man Dirhael. They were his wife and son. The bright memories soon turned dark, the two lying in pools of their own blood, throats slit by the Black Hand of Sauron. Talion stood over them, begging for it to not be real, for the ability to bring them back.

     The next time she could partially open her eyes, she saw present day Talion for a brief moment, green wraith magic flowing from him in waves and into her. It filled her with strength, with life. He gave her a reassuring smile before her eyes slipped shut again…

     The battlements of the Nurn stronghold were as she remembered them, down to the sun warmed stone and beautiful view of the lush green region around her. She leaned against a wall and let her gaze wander over the welcome sight.

     “I didn’t know if my spell would actually work.”

     She turned to find Talion standing a few feet away from her with a pleasantly surprised look on his face.

     “Spell?”

     “I combined the necromancy of Isildur’s Ring with an ancient elven healing rune used only for those on the brink of death. I didn’t know it would allow us to speak like this. Your condition was grave after Barad-dûr, so I improvised in the hopes that you would survive that night. It seems you may well survive another.” He stared at the gaping wound in her chest that stained her normally pristine silver armor crimson. “What happened?”

     “Saruman sent ten-thousand of his forces to Helm’s Deep at the foot of the White Mountains, where the people of Rohan were taking refuge. Théoden thought he would be leading them to safety, but he led many of them to a tomb. We stood with the Rohirrim and the Galadhrim in a fight that we almost lost.” She smirked. “But Mithrandir always arrives when he is needed most.”

     “Then Gandalf is alive.”

     Talion let out a breath of relief at that.

     “He is, and Merry and Pippin are being well looked after. We are all safe.” She took in his tired demeanor. “And what of you? Where has your journey led you?”

     “I travel with Frodo, Sam, and Gollum. We found each other at Osgiliath, and it is there that Boromir chose to stay after he was reunited with his brother. We are making for Cirith Ungol to avoid having to fight our way through the Black Gate.”

     “A wise choice, though I doubt Gollum leads them there without his own reasons.”

     “He hopes they will become meals for Shelob so that he can take the Ring.” Talion glared. “Not on my watch.” After a moment, he gave her a small smile. “It is good to see you, Eltariel. I don’t think the rune will work more than once, so try not to die again.”

     “You’re one to talk,” she retorted, and they shared a short laugh before her expression became serious once again. “Stay vigilant, Talion. There are far worse foes than orcs in Mordor.”

     With a parting nod, he vanished in a cloud of wraith green and black. Taking one last look at the peaceful and welcoming region, she closed her eyes and felt her consciousness slowly return.

     Eltariel gasped softly awake, eyes fluttering open as she sat up without a thought, unable to hold back a whimper of pain at the half healed stab wound that went clean through her back and chest. She pushed away the covers of the strange bed she was in, not recognizing her surroundings. Only the worried and disbelieving face that immediately rushed to her side to greet her from across the small, lightly furnished room was familiar.

     “Eltariel?” Haldir whispered, hands hovering a hairsbreadth away from her face, afraid that he was seeing things.

     “Haldir,” she replied with a relieved smile before it morphed into a concerned frown. “Are you hurt? What happened at the battle?”

     He didn’t answer her, hands finally cupping her face before he pulled her into a gentle embrace. She slowly returned the gesture after a moment of surprise, feeling his grip briefly tighten around her before disappearing completely.

     “I don’t understand.” He drew back, eyes scanning her features for answers. “You perished in my arms days ago in Hornburg. No one should be able to survive a blow like that.”

     Eltariel looked down at her chest and the wound that had felled her in battle. A small rune was glowing a soft green at the edge of her torso. Cuivië. Life. Awakening. Its power combined with Talion’s Ringwraith magic was indeed sustaining her, and when she focused on it, she could feel a distant, but present connection. What she thought was a sigh of relief echoed in her mind from it, and she gave a short laugh of disbelief. Haldir followed her eyes, his own widening when he saw.

     “It seems Talion has been looking out for me from the start.” The rune glowed blindingly bright before fading out of sight, magic lightly thrumming beneath Eltariel’s skin. Strength. Determination. Hope. With a deep breath at the feelings, she took in Haldir’s ragged, exhausted appearance with worry. “You haven’t rested.”

     “There was no rest to be had until I could give you a proper farewell, away from that place of death.”

     Her eyes curiously flitted around the room at that.

     “Where are we?”

     “We returned to Rohan after the battle. Mithrandir came, with the aid of Éomer and his men. They drove the rest of the orcs out of Helm’s Deep. I insisted on bringing you back as well, and told the rest of our people to return to Lórien without me if they wished.” Haldir took a seat next to Eltariel on the table she was occupying, staring out of the window at the rising sun. “Your companions chased the remaining orcs to Fangorn, no doubt heading to Isengard to finish matters with Saruman. After that, I assume they will go where they next expect an attack: Gondor, most likely. Sauron would see Minas Tirith burn, and the last hopes of Men with it.”

     His haunted eyes—the color of the skies, clear and bright in the early morning light—were full of worry and sorrow.

     “They will attack with a force even stronger than the one we faced. Does the fate of Middle-earth also rest with us, to hold the line of defense until the halflings complete their quest?” He averted his gaze to the bandages covering Eltariel’s wound. “To watch more people we care about die?”

     “I am still here,” Eltariel told him, a hand tightly grasping his as proof. His eyes flew to their intertwined fingers. “And I am still fighting for a world without Sauron, for the ones we have lost, the ones we hold dear and wish to protect. I have seen darkness unending. I have felt hopelessness so great that there would be no greater mercy than death.” He met her eyes in horror, and she smiled soothingly. “I know what we are at risk of losing, who we are at risk of losing, but I do not fear what is to come.”

     He squeezed her hand back with a slow nod, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Her long, unkempt hair reminded him of when they were merely children running through the forest looking for trouble. It made his heart ache in an all too familiar way, and he felt his eyes water.

     “Promise me something, gwinig.”

     Eltariel scoffed at the nickname.

     “I am not so little anymore—”

     “Promise me that you will live.” She looked to him in wonder as he blinked away a tear, then another. One got caught in his lashes, shimmering like a bright gemstone in the sunlight. Eltariel laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as he pulled her into his arms again. She felt the tear land on her cheek, and her eyes watered at how broken his voice had become. “Promise me. I cannot bear to lose you a third time.”

     “Then you must live as well,” she responded, the words whispered into his collarbone just loud enough for him to hear. “A life without you is not one I want to live. Never again.”

     “Then let us fight alongside Men until their people are safe and the enemy is slain… And then let us sail to a place where we never have to be parted from each other.”

Chapter Text

The Calm Before the Storm

     A great feast took place that night in the Golden Hall of Meduseld, every person in Edoras seated at a table with a cup of drink in their hand. Eltariel wore a tunic of deep forest green with silver accents, her long hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, stopping at the middle of her back. She sat next to Haldir, who was dressed in a similar outfit of red and gold. They both looked to a regally dressed Théoden, who stood in front of his throne with a kind but melancholy expression.

     “Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country.” He raised his cup, and the hall rose to their feet as he said, “Hail the victorious dead.”

     Cries of, “Hail!” echoed around them at the toast, and it was with those words that the feast began.

     The warmly lit wooden hall was alive with laughter and lighthearted chatter, filled with a sense of victory and relief, of tentative joy and calm. Barrels of ale and wine were brought out, along with many platters of food: meats, stews, cooked vegetables, rolls and breads, pastries, cakes, and confections. Legolas and Gimil were having a drinking contest, which Éomer presided over. A handful of Rohirrim fell out of their chairs with cackles at a particularly hilarious story. Coin was exchanged as bets were lost and dares were undertaken. At first glance, one might never have guessed that a time of great peril and loss had just befallen the people of Rohan.

     “They are… quite lively, aren’t they?”

     Eltariel looked to a bemused Haldir, whose eyes roamed the hall curiously.

     “They have won a great victory against a foe they thought impossible to beat.” She thoughtfully swirled the remains of ale around in her mug. “They have earned a night of merriment after what they have endured.”

     “I suppose so.”

     She smirked, attempting to lighten the mood.

     “Last I remember, you were quite the drinker and dancer.”

     He smiled wistfully, nodding.

     “At one time I would have happily indulged in festivities such as this. I wish my heart were as light now as it was then.” The flames of braziers scattered around the hall reflected in his—usually bright and keen—now haunted and icy irises. “I knew that evil and danger lurked outside of our realm, but it has been far too long since I have been in the thick of it. I was not prepared for destruction and loss on such a large scale.”

     His eyes were fixed on Merry and Pippin, energetically dancing and singing on top of a table close to the center of the hall. Mugs and flagons went flying as people clapped along to the upbeat tune the pair were performing.

     “Had Treebeard not come across the halflings, their lives would have been snuffed out without our knowing, their joy forever lost. The families of the men in this hall and some of our kin never saw the sunrise that brought Mithrandir and Éomer’s company, nor our victory.” His hands clenched around his still mostly full cup. “ You did not.”

     Slowly, gently, she pried one of his hands open and took it in hers. He finally looked to her, met with sympathy and understanding.

     “Perhaps my time in Mordor has made me less sensitive to it, darkness and death. I wish I could offer words of comfort, but there are few to be found. Sauron will retaliate, and we will take up arms again. He will not stop until every single one of us dies or kneels at his feet.” She gave a small smile, flexing her free hand and holding the softly glowing Light of Galadriel between them. “But there is light within all of that darkness. There is hope even when fear and risk of death threaten to overwhelm. You need only to believe in it to see it.”

     A companionable silence fell between the two for a few minutes as they let the sounds of the hall wash over them, allowing some of the tension to dissolve into the cheerful atmosphere. He went to speak, but reconsidered, instead bringing their intertwined hands up so that his lips brushed softly over her knuckles. She leaned against him, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder for a few moments.

     “Enjoy this while you can, Haldir. This may be our last chance to relax before we’re off to battle again.”

     He replied with a nod and a sip of ale (to which he failed hilariously to hold back a grimace at the taste of) as she made her way through the crowd towards Aragorn and Gandalf.

     “What does your heart tell you?” she heard Aragorn ask a crestfallen and worried looking Gandalf.

     The wizard perked up at the question, and a gentle and hopeful smile slowly replaced his despairing frown as he nodded.

     “That Frodo is alive. Yes. Yes, he’s alive.”

     “Frodo travels with Sam and Talion now. They departed from Osgiliath not long ago to continue their journey to Mordor.”

     The pair greeted Eltariel as she settled beside Gandalf.

     “It is good to see you in good health and good spirits, Eltariel,” Aragorn told her.

     “And you as well,” she responded. “I heard I missed some excitement in Isengard while I was recovering, and that war now looks past us towards Gondor.”

     Gandalf nodded.

     “Yes. Even with Saruman dead, it will not be long now. There is a strength in Men he did not expect. After Helm’s Deep, he now fears that enough forces to threaten him will unite under the banner of Isildur’s heir.” Aragorn grimaced at that. “Gondor will need allies in the battles to come, and Rohan must be ready to answer. I will go to warn the steward of what approaches.”

     “We will do what we can here to ensure reinforcements are sent,” Eltariel replied.

     “Leave that to me, my dear.”

     She recognized the twinkle in his eyes and gave a soft huff of laughter.

     “Very well.”

     It would be a few more hours before celebrations died down and the hall emptied, peaceful slumber finding many of the people of Rohan that night. Rows of cloth bedrolls filled the floors of one of the surrounding buildings, the remains of the Fellowship and some of the Rohirrim sharing the space. Aragorn and Legolas had been deep in discussion when everyone else decided to settle down for the night, and were absent from the room.

     Eltariel stirred at the sound of frantic, hushed whispers and the scuffling of bare feet, sluggishly rolling over and blinking the last of sleep from her eyes. Pippin and Merry were huddled around something glowing the harsh colors of flames before Pippin suddenly leapt back with a cry of agony, a very active palantir roaring to life in his hands. Merry watched on, terrified and helpless, shouting for Gandalf as Eltariel rushed over to them. Pippin’s screams died down to a confused whimper when the flaming colors turned a bright blue and white. It was then that Eltariel managed to wrench the dangerous object from Pippin’s hands, wincing as a familiar and powerful magic threatened to overwhelm her.

     Images of Minas Tirith burning to the ground—buildings crumbling into piles of rubble and ash and the White Tree of Gondor charred and lifeless—flashed before her eyes. But instead of the sinister whispers of her captor in Mordor, a familiar and strained voice spoke to her with urgency.

      Eltariel! I can’t hold him for much longer! He seeks the halfling and the One Ring! Protect them!

     Before she could respond, the palantir erupted with a roar in a clash of cyan and scarlet, and Eltariel stumbled backwards from the force of Celebrimbor and Sauron fighting for control. The door to the room flew open, and Legolas caught her before she could hit the ground. Aragorn helped steady her as the blindingly glowing orb fell from her hands and quickly rolled across the rough wooden floor to a now alert and furious Gandalf, who recovered the object and made his way to a motionless and teary-eyed Pippin, sprawled on his back with his gaze trained on the ceiling.

     “I sensed the presence of Sauron and another. We came as quickly as we could,” Legolas told them. “What happened?”

     “A fool of a Took sought to meddle with a force he did not understand, and nearly paid the price,” Gandalf answered, murmuring a spell to bring Pippin back from the brink of overwhelming fear and despair.

     The entire room was awake now, a small, concerned crowd gathered around the pair. The young hobbit’s eyes fluttered open with a pained gasp, and Pippin trembled as he attempted to organize his thoughts.

     “I-I saw him, Gandalf. I could hear his voice in my head. And he… he showed me… He showed me…” He squeezed his eyes shut, but quickly opened them again at the wizard’s urgent shake of his shoulders. “A white tree in a courtyard of stone. Everything was burning…” Gandalf absorbed the information with a resigned scowl, but Pippin’s next comment wiped it away in an instant. “But there… There was someone else. An… an elf?”

     “Celebrimbor,” Eltariel confirmed, drawing the stares of the entire room. “He temporarily broke Sauron’s hold over the palantir to give us time to break its connection to Pippin. Sauron is well aware that a halfling wields the Ring, but doesn’t know his identity.”

     “He asked me my name… but I didn’t tell him,” Pippin whispered, wincing at the pounding headache he was developing.

     He met Gandalf’s eyes and held his gaze; there was no lie to be found.

     It took several long minutes before everyone was calm enough to attempt to resume sleeping, and several long hours before sunrise came. The mood in the hall that morning was far removed from the joy and relief of the day before, a frigid, ominous tension taking its place. Théoden took the news of the previous night’s events with an indifferent frown, which only deepened when Gandalf stressed the importance of Rohan coming to Gondor’s aid should they call for it. At the king’s firm dismissal of the notion, Eltariel glared, standing from her seat at one of the hall’s tables. She shook off Legolas’ hand as he tried to get her to sit down again.

     “If Gondor falls, Rohan will be next, and then every land west of here. Will you risk all of Middle-earth because of your petty grievances with Denethor?”

     “Petty grievances? If it were the lives of your people—”

     “Enough!” Gandalf’s shout silenced both of them, and Eltariel reluctantly retook her seat as Théoden silently crossed his arms in displeasure. “Grievances aside, Gondor will be warned…” Everyone followed his gaze to a confused and nervous Pippin as he said, “And I won’t be doing it alone.”

XxX

     Thick clusters of gnarled trees and colorless dirt paths resided under an endless wall of dark clouds, occasionally greeted by stray beams of cold and hollow sunlight. Day and night looked almost no different from one another as Talion, Sam, Frodo, and Gollum made their way through the forest outside of Osgiliath.

     Frodo and Sam let Gollum lead the way, as they had for some time before their encounter with Faramir. Talion walked a few paces behind them, observing the changes in the hobbits since the last time he saw them. An agitated and hostile caution had fallen over Frodo, his once bright, youthful eyes now dimmed and haunted. His twitching hands were never too far from the collar of his shirt, where the One Ring rested. There was a painful sadness that clung to Sam, especially noticeable when he looked at Frodo, but there was a defiant spark of hope there also.

     Gollum scurried several paces ahead, darting in and out of trees until the trio could no longer see him.

     “Doesn’t he know we won’t wait for him if he decides to get himself lost?” Sam commented with a sigh. “That’s alright, though. We have you, Talion. Do you know the way from here?”

     “I rarely traveled west of Minas Tirith, so I’m not familiar with these woods, but they do not look thick enough to become lost in.”

     Talion entered the Wraith World, and Frodo flinched in panic before slowly relaxing again, looking back at him with poorly concealed worry. Talion could see Gollum several yards ahead, puttering around behind a wide tree and muttering to himself. Beyond there, he could make out a fork in their current path that continued taking them in the direction of an ever menacing Mount Doom.

     “Straight ahead is a split in the path that stays in the direction we want to go,” he answered, vision returning to normal. “Gollum is not far. Has he…” Talion calmed the contempt in his voice before asking his question. “Has he been helpful to you?”

     Frodo nodded, smiling sadly.

     “He has been true to his word. I asked him to lead us to Mordor, and he led us safely to the Black Gate. I asked him to show us another way there, and here he leads us to Cirith Ungol. He has not raised a hand towards me or threatened my life. And when the Ring’s hold over him is weak… he is almost like he was before it came into his life.” His smile morphed into a frown. “He is scared of darkness’ hold on him, of Sauron and the Ringwraiths. Of death. He wants to be free of the One Ring’s hold… and I have to believe there’s still hope for him.”

      That creature has a part to play in the fate of all Middle-earth. I can feel it.

     Celebrimbor’s words from long ago echoed in Talion’s mind, and he cast his gaze back to a now upbeat and excited Gollum, who was gesturing and calling for them to catch up to him. The three of them moved quickly to close the distance, and Gollum led them on until what little sunlight there was waned, signaling the end of the day. A small cave with a carved diamond shaped opening was large enough to provide all of them shelter, and it was there that Sam, Frodo, and Talion settled, Gollum wandering off to find himself some food.

     Sam quickly fell asleep across from Frodo, who stared out at the desolate land in deep thought for a while, the One Ring only fingertips away from his grasp at all times. Talion turned away before he could catch a glimpse of it, fixing his eyes on the sharp, blackened, jagged ridges of his armor instead.

      “It’s almost time for our final attack. Are you ready?”

     The fires of Mount Doom lit the sky in shades of crimson and gold against dark plumes of smoke. Talion stood at the edge of Gorgoroth’s fortress, eyes trained on the stone bridge below that would be overflowing with the mightiest of Mordor’s orcs in a few hours. Celebrimbor appeared to him with an unreadable yet cold look in his eyes, but didn’t respond otherwise. Talion tried to draw his gaze, but the wraith paid him no mind, staring intensely and resolutely at Barad-dûr. It wasn’t until he put a hand on his shoulder that Celebrimbor acknowledged him, shook from his thoughts by the contact.

     “It will be over soon, I promise.” Their eyes finally met, and Talion saw a flash of fear before it was gone, replaced with uneasiness. “Celebrimbor?”

     “I have waited millennia for this day.” The wraith broke away from him, turning his back and stopping a few steps away, hands clenched into fists at his sides. For the first time in a long time, he seemed vulnerable as his voice became quiet, strained. “I can still hear the screams of my wife and daughter, feel the smithing hammer striking me, the guilt and fury flowing through me knowing that the fall of Middle-earth would be my fault…”

     Talion took a few steps towards his longtime companion, concerned.

     “Sauron deceived you. You couldn’t have known—”

     “I should have. I knew something wasn’t right, but the prospect of changing our world for the better blinded me. I crafted Rings and gave him the power to enslave and destroy with but a word, a thought.”

     “Because you wanted to make a better world.”

     “Intention means nothing if the end results do harm instead of good.”

     “Intention means everything!” Talion protested, stopping a few feet behind Celebrimbor, who still had his back turned. “Intention is what guides our thoughts and our actions. Even if the result isn’t what you want, you can still keep fighting until it is. Why did we take control of Mordor? Why did we craft the New Ring? To defeat Sauron once and for all, to destroy him so he never hurts anyone ever again!”

     “That was your intention! Not mine!”

     “You can let me go at any time, leave me to die so that you can have your peace. You could have after we killed the Black Hand, but you chose to stay. Because no matter how dark, twisted, and vengeful you’ve become in the last few thousands of years, a part of you believed that we could do this. So what’s changed?” An uncomfortable silence stretched between the two, accompanied only by the sounds of Talion’s ragged breathing and a hiss of wind. “Will you please look at me?” he whispered worriedly.

     Celebrimbor slowly turned around, meeting Talion’s gaze with deep, overwhelming weariness and a waning warmth. He gave a sad smile.

     “You have brought out the best in me from the moment we met, Talion. You have given me back my memories, restored parts of me that I had long forgotten and long given up hope of having returned…”

     His smile faded, and Talion frowned as whatever kindness he’d seen vanished in an instant.

     “But?”

     “But none of it matters if we do not win the coming battle, if we do not make the right decision when the time comes.”

     “We will.”

     Talion couldn’t explain the sudden stab of dread and loss that he felt as Celebrimbor asked, “Will we?”

     Talion blinked away the memory at the sound of a tear landing on his armor. He sighed, quickly wiping his eyes.

     “I should have known…” He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “But my feelings blinded me, didn’t they?” He took the New Ring in his hand, its soft blue glow almost overpowered by the flaming light of Isildur’s Ring. “And look what happened because of it.”

     It would be several hours before Sam awoke and Gollum returned. Neither Frodo nor Talion had gotten any rest, and the words of the Witch-king that had followed the unpleasant memory from the previous night echoed in Talion’s mind throughout their next day of travel.

      Our master’s victory was inevitable from the moment you crafted your New Ring. You could not stop what was to come then, and you cannot now. Soon, your time will end, and we will be The Nine once more…

XxX

     The normally bright blue Sea of Nurnen was tinged gray by the dark skies of Mordor, the loss of color contrasted by Nurn’s ever vibrant emerald green shores. Large wooden boats with tall white sails emblazoned by a familiar cyan branding handprint were lined up as far as the eye could see. Some carried supplies like food, medicine, artillery, and weaponry, while others carried their foot soldiers and the large host of beasts Torvin and Skak had managed to gather over the last few months. Choppy waters lashed out against the sides of each vessel like angrily pounding fists, a far cry from their usual calm and quiet. As Torvin was herding a rather moody graug onto an empty ship, Skak’s eyes were fixed on the letter in his hands. Each stronghold had received something similar from Ratbag, with news of Saruman’s death at Isengard and the gathering of orc troops from there to the edge of Mordor in preparation for a brutal assault on the city of Minas Tirith.

     Fortress attacks had all but ceased in the last few days, each region just as quiet as when Talion had first departed for the Shire. Like then, there was a tense uneasiness in the air, everyone waiting for the next ambush or large frontal assault. As he continued reading, the mention of the heir to Gondor’s throne gave him pause; the last thing they needed was to become caught up in the politics of Men when they already had enough of their own problems to deal with. Though if this heir was anything like Talion, Sauron had every reason to be worried. Speaking of Talion…

     “Still worrying about our dear captain?” Skak’s grumbled response resembled more of a growl than a begrudging, “Yes,” but Torvin understood all the same. “I’m sure he’s on his way back as we speak, One Ring safe and sound.” A rough, calloused hand came to rest on the overlord’s forearm as his frown only deepened. “What’s got you in such a sour mood? I thought you’d be happy to finally be in the thick of things.”

     With a reluctant sigh, Skak handed the letter over to the dwarf, watching the color slowly drain from his face as he read the words aloud.

      “The Witch-king is at the helm of a horde based in Minas Morgul, planning to travel west to reinforce the orcs in the surrounding areas. Orders are to wipe Minas Tirith off the face of Middle-earth, and to capture the Blade of Galadriel, Gravewalker, and any hobbit of the Shire alive.”

     Idril finished cutting the last of the rope bindings keeping a young, malnourished, tearful girl from her parents, who had been imprisoned in a slave camp about a day’s journey behind them. She gently and quickly checked her over for any grave injuries before quietly reassuring her and pointing her in the direction of a weary but relieved couple. Idril gave a small, bittersweet smile at the sight before turning back towards a concerned Baranor, who had been reading her Ratbag’s letter. He leaned against the opening of the cave tunnel they’d been following all day—or was it night? It had become increasingly hard to tell—weighed down by exhaustion and the meaning of the words he’d just spoken. The soft crunch of dried, dying grass accompanied the sounds of joyful sobs in the background as Idril came to stand beside him, skimming the letter in his slightly trembling hands. She took them in hers as his worried sigh hit her like a strong gust of storm wind, the physical contact keeping both of them steady.

     “You’re exhausted,” she noticed, a hint of guilt in her voice. “It will take time for their forces to gather. We will all need the rest for the battles to come.”

     Baranor nodded, not protesting as she slowly lowered them to sit on the ground before leaving to check in with their men. A small group would need to help lead the people they’d rescued to the nearest settlement, wounded needed tending to, and he needed to send a letter Serka’s way to tell him the location of the rendezvous point on the way to the Black Gate. A small cluster of large spiders—the members of Shelob’s brood had been essential in helping lead every group to each camp by the safest and quickest route possible and distracting their foes upon arrival—had decided to keep him company as he let his eyes wander over the now broken cages and machines that had been occupied by innocents not too long ago. Even though he’d seen his fair share of horrors and atrocities, the sight of mutilated bodies (man, child, and orc alike) and children with bruises, bloody feet, and broken bones tied to always-moving mechanisms never failed to make him sick to his stomach. He understood now why Idril had been so insistent on liberating every camp as soon as possible.

     “There will only be more of this if we don’t help end the war against Sauron once and for all,” he murmured to himself.

     He looked back down at the letter to finish reading it.

      But, thanks to good old Ratbag’s charm and quick thinking, the Black Gate will be ours soon. The skeleton crew loyal to Sauron still hanging around here is no match for me, Ranger, and my our army of successfully recruited and trained fresh out of the muck orcs. Once you lot join up with us, we’ll have more than enough firepower to thin the horde and hold the entrance to Mordor!

     And good on you and the shield-lady for liberating those camps. Just make sure you live long enough to see those people rebuild after all this is over, yeah?

     Now, here’s what we need to do to win this once and for all…

     The shadow of Minas Morgul made the usual gloom and fear in Cirith Ungol grow ever greater, bright Ringwraith green barely separated from dull grays and browns by tall cliffs and sharp, rocky mountain peaks. What little grass and greenery grew in the region had lost its color as light and hope drained out of what looked like a dying land. Amug scanned the various papers scattered across the fortress table once again, a half finished bowl of rabbit stew sitting next to an inkwell and stack of blank parchment. Ratbag’s letter had arrived a few days ago, with news of happenings in the west and a plan to secure the Black Gate against Sauron’s forces gathered in Mordor. 

     The tunnel groups, led by Idril and Baranor and then Serka and the Vanishing Sons respectively, and Bruz and Ur-Edin’s forces were on their way to the Black Gate, with Torvin’s schematics and portable inventions in tow along with the supplies and people to build them. Torvin was leading most of Nurn’s beasts, the orcs who could ride them, and all the supplies they could carry to join them. Warriors in Cirith Ungol and the troops and beasts that remained with Skak would be bringing up the rear. Their numbers weren’t as high as he would have liked, but with the element of surprise on their side, he had a good feeling that the rest of the orcs attacking Gondor wouldn’t be getting any reinforcements.

     Next to Ratbag’s letter were copies of the tunnel maps Idril and Baranor had obtained a few weeks before, which would allow each stronghold a way to travel unseen to Udûn. In all of this, there was still the matter of the Nazgûl to worry about, of course, and the ever watchful Flaming Eye (even if it had been more distracted as of late), but for the first time in recent memory, Amug felt a hint of hope.

     He ate a few spoonfuls of stew before dipping a quill into his inkwell and starting on a letter of his own. If Talion was as close to returning as some believed, he would need to be informed of their plans, and he was sure Ratbag was too busy gloating about his success at the Black Gate to even consider that. Gorfel the Prowler was one of the best tracker orcs in all of Mordor. If anyone could find Talion without being seen and deliver the letter safely, it was him. With that in mind, Amug began to write.

      I hope this letter finds you well, my lord. Mordor has been anxiously awaiting your triumphant return. We will be at war at the Black Gate soon if we aren’t already, and there is much you need to know…

XxX

     It had been several hours since Gandalf and Pippin had departed for Minas Tirith, the setting sun Merry’s only companion for the better part of the evening. His gaze was fixed upon the plains surrounding Rohan, their tall grasses waving to him in greeting in the gentle wind. He braced his shoulders against the fence in front of him and let his forehead lightly thump against the wood with a sigh.

     “Aragorn told me I might find you here.”

     Eltariel settled at Merry’s side, her own gaze tracking the sun’s descent in the warmly lit sky. When he looked up at her a few minutes later, he couldn’t stop himself from staring at her hoodless figure, her blonde hair the shade of flames as it danced under the light of the sunset. She turned to him with a small smile that he returned after a moment.

     “Legolas told me what happened at Helm’s Deep, how you died protecting someone. And that Talion managed to bring you back to life with his magic.”

     “More or less. Much has happened since the last time we saw each other,” she replied with a soft laugh.

     He took in her more relaxed stance, the easiness of her laughter, a spark in her eyes that reminded him all too much of Pippin when he had an idea in mind that was sure to get them in trouble. It was nice to see her this way.

     “You’ve changed,” he noticed. “You’re happier. Less…”

     “Cold?” she offered.

     “Guarded,” Merry answered. “It’s like you’re a different person. In a good way!” he added quickly. “Not that you weren’t great before!”

     “I take no offense, Merry,” she reassured him kindly. “I am glad to hear it.” Her smile of joy turned sad then. “I came to check on you. The others are worried.”

     The hobbit ducked his head to hide the stricken expression on his face.

     “I know he’s with Gandalf, and that means he’s in safe hands, but… I’ve always been there for him. Whenever Pippin’s been in trouble, we’ve been able to face it together. Now… I don’t know what’s going to happen, or if I’ll ever see him again.”

     Eltariel kneeled in front of him, her covered knees scraping against the rough wooden platform. She slowly tipped his head up to meet her sympathetic gaze.

     “Just as Bilbo Baggins helped the dwarves reclaim Erebor, and as Frodo prepares to cast the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, so too shall you and Pippin find your way back to each other when this is all over. Nothing in this world can stop a hobbit when they’ve put their mind to something.”

     They shared another gentle smile before Merry threw his arms around her, much to Eltariel’s surprise. She bit back a wince at his grip, not daring to move or make a sound and break the spell of the moment as she closed her eyes. A comfortable silence settled over them for a while until Merry spoke again.

     “I’m glad you decided to come with us in Rivendell.”

      She slowly returned the embrace then, letting out a harsh breath before she whispered, “As am I.” He pulled away after a few more seconds, and they both watched the sun finally sink under the horizon, the first few stars twinkling into sight as night finally fell. “Why don’t we head inside, and you can tell me all about Treebeard and how our friends found you again.”

     “You heard about that?”

     “Haldir mentioned it, yes.”

     “Well, it all stated when…”

     Their conversation continued as they reached the Golden Hall, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Haldir smiling at his excitement and the pair’s easygoing manner. The six enjoyed dinner together as Merry told them of the gathering of the Ents and their march on Isengard, his fondness of Pippin present in every word he spoke, banishing his earlier sorrow and filling each of them with a profound sense of joy and peace.

Chapter Text

The Eve of War

     The golden hall of Meduseld was empty save Eltariel, Aragorn, and Théoden. The embers in its fireplace glowed faintly, a few surrounding braziers providing just enough warm light to see by. Aragorn was seated at one of the wooden tables, his pipe between his lips, lost in thought. Eltariel sat a few seats down from him, watching Théoden pace the area in front of them with his hands clasped behind his back. Most of Rohan would be settling down for bed, but their King showed no signs of tiredness, thoughts in a constant state of motion.

     “I have never known Gandalf’s counsel to be in bad faith,” he spoke, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between them and drawing the pair’s gazes. His words were weary, and his heart heavy. “I do not wish to see Gondor fall when we have the means to help them, but I am not so eager to send my people off to battle when they’ve only recently returned from another.” Eltariel clenched her hands at her sides, biting her tongue, and Aragorn’s gaze turned contemplative. “However,” Théoden continued, stopping right in front of them, “I have already given the order for the Rohirrim to be ready to leave in the morning, and sent word that all able bodied men should meet us at Dunharrow should they wish to fight with us.”

     “How many do you expect to join us there?” Eltariel asked, reminding herself to relax and unfisting her hands.

     “It is hard to say, but there is no use dwelling on that now. No matter our numbers, we shall come to Gondor’s aid in their time of need. I suggest the two of you rest while you are able.”

     Aragorn nodded, briefly glancing between the other two before he stood, twirling his pipe between his fingers to allow it to begin cooling.

     “I will inform the others of this,” he told them, laying a gentle hand on Eltariel’s shoulder for a moment before taking his leave.

     Eltariel and Théoden looked at each other in a tense silence, waiting for the other to speak first. Eltariel wasn’t sure what to say, and so it was Théoden that broke the stalemate.

     “I responded poorly in our conversation this morning,” he began, “And I must apologize.” At Eltariel’s questioning gaze, he smiled sadly. “Long have Denethor and I held respect for one another. I understand his reluctance to send any more of his people from Minas Tirith when they have already sacrificed much and are undermanned as is. But it was wrong of me to dismiss the sacrifice of your people in our time of need, and for that I ask your forgiveness.”

     “Truly, there is no need. I… Before the Fellowship, I was used to being on my own. I never had to worry about others under my care or leadership. It was unfair of me to dismiss your concern for your own people.” She sighed, shaking her head “I simply would not see the forces of Mordor take any more lives if I can help it.”

     “And that is admirable, honorable. I simply caution you against letting that honor and drive to do right turn to anger at the first sign of trouble or resistance. I’ve learned from experience that many costly mistakes can be made in anger and frustration, in haste when there is no need for it.”

     Eltariel didn’t have a response, nodding when words didn’t come to her. Théoden’s gaze was kind, calm, and understanding then, and he left her to her thoughts, the vast hall’s doors softly swinging shut behind him.

     It was lost in thought that Eltariel found herself the next morning after a not quite restful night of sleep. Dressed and armed for battle, she sat atop her horse, which stood next to the front door of the Fellowship’s temporary resting place. She gently patted its neck as it shuffled its hooves restlessly amidst the enormous crowd of passerby. Spears and horse emblazoned banners were visible as far as the eye could see, held in the hands of those in the midst of tearful exchanges with their families. Many wives and children desperately hugged the men they’d only recently gotten back from almost certain death. Beyond that, everyone was noticeably fatigued. The great feast they’d just enjoyed was now like a distant memory as their minds turned to battle, to war. Éomer would be the one to lead the sea of Rohirrim and those accompanying them to the encampment out the gates and through the expansive plains surrounding the city. If they pushed their horses to their limits, it would only take them four days to reach Minas Tirith.

     Knowing of the fierce and brutal battle that awaited them almost made her miss the days of hunting the Nazgûl in Mordor, where her biggest concerns were sneaking through the occasional orc encampment or the rare appearance of a fellbeast. She missed the thrill and surety that came with the hunt, in being able to plan and strike from the shadows. Large and open battles were not her specialty, contained too many hidden variables. Eltariel’s eyes drifted a few feet away from her to Haldir, who whispered soothing words to his horse before gracefully mounting it, adjusting his traveling cloak as he settled. He met her conflicted gaze from across the way.

     “You were right when you said our chance to relax was fleeting last night.”

     She crossed her arms with a soft hum of acknowledgement.

     “We have a little more time until we must draw our swords again. There is comfort in knowing our numbers will only grow before then.”

     “But?”

     An amused huff escaped her at his knowing tone, and the two shared small smiles for a moment before a sad frown replaced hers.

     “Long have I known war and death. I dream of the day when my mission is complete and the suffering caused by Sauron is no more.”

     “That day is closer than you think.” He parted the crowd and moved his horse next to hers, tucking an errant strand of blonde hair back beneath her hood and out of her eyes, his own seemingly resistant to the blowing wind. “Your Fellowship has made it so.”

     Her smile returned, and she greeted Legolas and Gimli as they passed, soon followed by Aragorn, Éowyn, and a surprisingly cheerful Merry. A large bell rang through Edoras, signaling their imminent departure. Eltariel and Haldir followed their companions as the crowd began to move forward, the thundering of thousands of hooves the cadence of the next part of their journey.

XxX

     The once numerous trees outside of Osgiliath started to thin as Frodo, Sam, Gollum, and Talion continued on their way to Cirith Ungol. The land had become almost devoid of color, as pale and lifeless as the clouded sky above them. Their last day of travel had been quiet and uneventful, a few crumbling remainders of the kingdom of Gondor long past the only indicators that they were truly headed in the right direction. Sam and Talion had fallen back a few paces from Frodo and Gollum, and Talion took in the worried gaze of his friend with a frown.

     “What troubles you?”

     Sam swallowed, shaking his head.

     “Do you see the way they talk to each other? I’ve tried being nice to him, for Mr. Frodo’s sake, but he’s a snake, he is. I just know it!”

     The pair watched Gollum talk excitedly to Frodo, who laughed and nodded. The smile on his face was genuine, lighthearted. It was the most carefree they’d seen either of them be lately.

     “Frodo wants to help him. He sees the good in him and he wants to protect it. He also knows Gollum understands the struggles he’s facing. If there is any talk of the One Ring, he will take Gollum at his word, and Gollum probably knows that.”

     Sam averted his eyes at the way they laughed and conversed like old friends. He wouldn’t deny it stung, but he was grateful that Frodo could find something to be happy about on their long, dark journey. Talion looked to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, interrupting whatever sad thoughts he might have started having.

     “Possessing a Ring of Power is a great burden to bear, but even greater is the burden of watching ones you know slowly change because of a Ring’s dark magic threatening to swallow them whole.” They looked back to Frodo and Gollum. “Gollum was a person once, with a life, friends, a home… until the One Ring shattered his mind and changed him into something unrecognizable. A small part of who he once was is within him still, but the rest of him will do anything to obtain the Ring. It is for that reason he leads you to the tunnels of Shelob, in the hopes that she will trap and kill both of you and allow him to take it.”

     They shared a scowl, falling silent as a strong breeze blew through the area, whipping Talion’s hood over his head and causing Sam to clutch his cloak against the wind.

     “Who is this Shelob anyway?”

     “A powerful child of Ungoliant, the Great Spider. It was her visions that began my quest of liberating and protecting this land, and eventually led to me rescuing you outside of Rivendell and joining the Fellowship.”

     The vision of a giant spider made Sam tremble, and the idea of her and Talion conversing was too unbelievable a scenario to imagine.

     “A-And she would eat us if we trespassed in her tunnels?”

     Talion snorted.

     “She knows who we are and what is at stake in our quest. She would no sooner eat you than I would.”

     That managed to get a brief chuckle out of Sam, though some fear still remained in him. It was then that Frodo looked behind him, meeting their gazes with the same worry that they felt before giving them a small smile. He slowed his pace until the three of them were side by side, Gollum running towards a small cave and shouting for them to catch up.

    Talion felt equal parts dread and relief as the woods around them finally disappeared completely, and he ducked his head as the trio entered a shallow cave system. Their footsteps reverberated ominously in the small, dimly lit cavern as Gollum eagerly scurried ahead. He looked back over his shoulder every now and then to make sure they were still following him. Several minutes later, the rock under their feet shifted back to dirt when they emerged in the Morgul Vale. Tall, mountainous cliffs of black and gray rock bathed in a toxic green glow stretched all around them.

     Ahead of them stood the once glorious Moon Tower of Minas Ithil. The previously white stone tower that stretched into the clouds and symbolized strength and hope now radiated malice and death, cloaked in pulsing Ringwraith magic. What little Talion could see of the city from their vantage point revealed that its reconstruction had not halted after his departure. Were it not a host of great evil, it might now have been considered beautiful again instead of haunting. From the city’s front entrance was a stone bridge that connected directly to the long, dusty path several feet below and beside them, leading in the direction of the Black Gate.

     The hobbits shivered, every breath of air feeling tainted and full of darkness. Talion winced as several sensations assaulted his senses at once. Destruction. Revenge. Determination. Power. Loyalty. W r o n g.

     The dark magic that permeated every inch of Mordor knocked the wind out of him after spending so long away from it, and he swore under his breath as he stumbled against the rock wall next to them. Head spinning, he squeezed his eyes shut to try and block some of it out.

     “Talion?” Sam asked in concern.

     “I’m alright,” he answered after a few moments. The four of them flinched as his voice came out in a distorted hiss, and he bit back a growl at the change. “We have arrived at Minas Morgul. We’re in Mordor now.” His eyes blinked open when the once stifling air became bearable again, the shade of flames if the worried looks he received were any indication. “There are other paths through Cirith Ungol we can take.”

     Gollum glared at him. 

     “We must go up the stairses to avoid the Dead City,” he argued, and Talion scowled.

     “I know, but there is no need to traverse Shelob’s tunnels when my stronghold is nearby. It will provide us with a safe place to rest and resupply before we continue on to Gorgoroth.”

     He observed the way Frodo looked ready to pass out on his feet, leaning against Sam for support, and the sight pained him. The hobbits exchanged thoughtful glances before looking back to Talion. Frodo’s hand fiddled with the neckline of his shirt as he traced the chain resting against his chest, and Talion’s unconsciously drifted to his own beneath his armor. A moment of understanding passed between them.

     “You know these lands well, Talion. We’ll go where you deem best,” Frodo decided.

     “Grrr! Nasty, tricksy ranger! Sméagol is master’s guide, not you!” He stomped around them then, furious. “Takes them to a fort full of filthy orcses, he does.”

     “I won’t ask you to come with us if you don’t want to, Sméagol.” Frodo’s tired but kind words gave Gollum pause, angry retort dying on his lips. “You have been loyal and kept your promise to bring us here. I would not have you make another journey unwillingly, and I would see you free and living in lands far away from the harshness of Mordor.”

     What greed remained in Gollum’s eyes vanished for the moment, the icy selfishness of his being thawing just a little more, as it had in every kind interaction he’d had on their journey. It would not last, the hold of the One Ring too strong to be broken now, but every time it happened, Frodo felt his hope rise anyway.

     Before Gollum could respond, the four felt chills run down their spine, a shock of danger running through them and freezing them in place.

      I can sense you, Ranger.

     Talion gasped as the Witch-king’s chilling voice spoke into his mind, and the gates of Minas Morgul gave a mighty groan as they slowly opened. The boom! of thousands of orcs—outfitted in heavy armor, with torches, halberds, swords, and war banners distributed among the masses—marching in unison met their ears. It was only thanks to Gollum’s quick reaction that they took cover behind a small outcrop before being spotted. Poisonous emerald magic swirled around the Moon Tower before surging upward into the clouds, infecting the once still and colorless sky. Gollum and the hobbits covered their ears and writhed in agony at the ear-splitting shriek that followed while Talion glared defiantly at the fellbeast seated Nazgûl that soon came into view above his new army, perched on the sturdy stone wall surrounding the lower level of the city.

      Our brethren are preparing to lay siege to Gondor as we speak, and the One Ring will soon be ours. It will not be long before you cast off the shackles of Men and join us as the Dark Lord ushers in a new and better world.

     “You will not take him, and I will not join you!” came Talion’s harsh whisper.

      We shall see.

     The Witch-king gave another mighty shriek before flying ahead of his troops and leading them to their next destination. Several moments passed, hushed, harsh breaths accompanying the loud and heavy footsteps of the orcs below.

     “Come away. We must climb,” Gollum insisted when the four of them had gathered their bearings, motioning to the steep cliffs behind them.

     Sam and Frodo exchanged skeptical glances, but Talion reassured them, “We will not have to go all the way up. There are passages that lead further into the region at the first landing.”

     Satisfied with that response, Frodo gestured for Gollum to go up first. He followed, with Sam behind him and Talion bringing up the rear in case anyone fell. The rock was harsh against their hands, footholds and grooves shaped and spaced unevenly. It was slick in some spots and coarse in others, and the hobbits were extra careful about every movement they made.

     A pair of dark and beady eyes watched from above, hidden in the shadows, waiting for their arrival.

XxX

     An eerie fog had settled over the river that ran through the once prosperous and proud city of Osgiliath. The waning moonlight of the approaching dawn cast murky shadows upon the gray stone ruins of buildings where weary and vigilant soldiers were attempting to rest. Scouts were posted at key points throughout the city, eyes searching for any sign of enemy movement. A group of men were gathered around a small fire pit in one of the less damaged buildings, murmurs of their conversation lost in the sounds of shifting armor, bubbling stew, and crackling flames. In the building next to them, Faramir stood on a high balcony with a view of the entire area. Luinil was curled up behind him, having barely left his side since Talion had left her to protect them.

     At Faramir’s tired sigh, she crooned softly, bright blue eyes blinking up at him as he turned around to look at her. He smiled kindly, walking over to gently pat her snout. The thought of looking after a fire drake had worried many at first, but she had proven to be a valuable asset to them: whether it was clearing rubble in the search for missing soldiers, quickly transporting the injured to safe locations where they could be treated, or providing warmth and protection on harsh nights. She had returned from her nightly hunt and scouting trip not too long ago, immediately settling near Faramir with a greeting warble. Luinil gently headbutted him in the chest, and he fell into a sort of hug around her head with a soft oof! as a result. That was how Boromir found his brother not too long after.

     The echo of footsteps on stone and a quiet chuckle alerted Faramir to his presence, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, taking in the sight before him.

     “She’s quite fond of you,” he observed, a soft smile gracing his lips at his brother’s still awestruck gaze.

     Faramir returned Boromir’s smile as he stood, Luinil greeting Boromir with a low rumble, resting her head back on the ground with a huff of warm air.

     “It seems so. I feel like a boy in a fairy tale,” he admitted.

     Boromir made his way onto the balcony, standing at its edge to look over the city and frowning at the fog that moved ever closer to them. Faramir soon stood beside him, the pair looking out over the land in a companionable silence.

     It had been almost two days since the departure of Gollum, Talion, and the hobbits from Osgiliath, and he was sure it still weighed heavily on his brother. Once the joy of their reunion had waned and calmed, Boromir had broken down in his arms almost as soon as they’d had an opportunity to speak alone. They had sat together against a wall in a far off building as he spoke of the Council of Elrond in Rivendell, of the Fellowship’s journey from there and the difficulties they faced. Through forests, over mountains, and through fallen dwarven kingdoms they traveled, losing Mithrandir and another pair of hobbits on their way to Mordor. He talked about his encounter with Frodo at Amon Hen, Talion’s sacrifice in battle and his subsequent revival on their way to Osgiliath. He confessed his guilt, for being tempted by the One Ring despite his promise to protect his friends, for letting Merry and Pippin be kidnapped by orcs in the midst of an ambush.

     Faramir had listened, heart clenching at the tormented look in Boromir’s eyes, at the way he appeared to have aged a decade in the span of not quite a year, at the fear he exhibited when he finally fell silent, looking away from him as if expecting some sort of rejection or condemnation. The silence between them then was nervous, uncertain, and it took a while for Faramir to find his words.

     “You are not perfect, Boromir, and neither am I. Nor should you hold either of us to such a standard. That Ring tries to tempt and twist all who encounter it.” He smiled sadly. “It did so to me when I first met Frodo and Sam not long ago.”

     At his brother’s shocked and disbelieving gaze, Faramir told him of how he and a few rangers had found the pair while scouting in the forests of Ithilien. He had taken them into custody to determine whether they were truly honest travelers or spies of the enemy masquerading as such. At the mention of traveling with Boromir, he explained recovering part of the cloven Horn of Gondor and the dream he’d had of finding Boromir’s corpse floating down the river Anduin in an elven boat. When talks turned to the Fellowship’s quest, of the growing ill feeling Faramir had had the more they spoke of it, grand visions had flashed through his mind as Frodo showed him the One Ring during their conversation.

      The armies of Gondor standing victorious as Sauron and the last of the orcs fell. Trumpets sounding at his return to Minas Tirith, a recently arrived Borormir and a proudly grinning Denethor greeting him with open arms and declarations of victory and celebration. Gondor finally flourishing again and at peace, a beautiful land of freedom and opportunity, the White Tree flowering. The Ring resting safely on his finger as he sat at a table during a great feast, guests from across Middle-earth in attendance, including Frodo and Sam.

     “A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality: that of the very highest.”

     He had been horrified at the brief desire to take the One Ring, more than enough men at his back to keep the hobbits from stopping him, but he had pushed the idea out of his mind and emphatically resisted its call. They had continued on to Osgiliath, which was meant to be their last brief stop before returning to the White City. It was there that he offered the hobbits and Gollum (who scouts brought to him not too long after, having spotted him sneakily following them) refuge, with promises of what supplies could be spared and an offer to send them in the right direction at the first light. Then, the orcs attacked, and he and his men had been drawn into a vicious battle that would have destroyed them if not for Boromir and Talion’s timely arrival.

     “I do not think less of you for any of the things you did while on your journey. I don’t know if I would have had the strength to endure as you did through everything. It pains my heart to hear of your troubles, but I am simply glad that you’ve returned safely. I have missed you greatly,” Faramir had told him.

     “And I you, brother. When darkness closed in, when things felt too perilous or overwhelming, I thought of you. The hope of one day seeing you again, speaking to you just like this, being at your side in our home, is what kept me going, guided me. In a way, we were both on that journey to Mordor.”

     Faramir had leaned against him then, head on Boromir’s shoulder, letting out a deep sigh.

     “I don’t know if my heart could have beared watching you leave again,” he admitted quietly. “I am always at my best with you by my side. Perhaps that’s selfish of me, when their quest is so much bigger than us.”

     Boromir shook his head, a hand resting gently on Faramir’s knee in reassurance.

     “I would only be a burden to them, someone they would constantly look over their shoulder for in fear I may not be able to resist the Ring again. I can do more good for them by rallying Gondor to their side, to ride to battle for them in their darkest hour.” He smiled then. “And if I couldn’t bear to be parted from you again either, then I am selfish as well.”

     They had spent the next day and a half tending to the wounded and searching for lost survivors and the dead. Despite their losses and the uneasy anticipation of more possible attacks, the sight of the sons of the steward together again had sent a shockwave of hope and determination through the men stationed at Osgiliath. Though exhausted from the most recent battle, there was a new energy within everyone that lifted the once pessimistic and hopeless atmosphere. 

     Mind drawn back to the present, Faramir followed Boromir’s gaze to where he thought the shore was across the river. There was a crease of worry between his brother’s eyebrows when he glanced beside him.

     “What troubles you?”

     “Just a feeling. We’re worried about attacks from the north, but I can’t help but think—”

     “They would use the cover of fog,” Faramir finished for him.

     Boromir nodded. The two exchanged worried glances, but as Faramir went to rush off, he stopped him.

     “Wait. They’ll be coming from the river, yes, but do you really think they would send all their forces along the same path? They’ll have learned from our last battle. If we rush to meet them as they come ashore, the rest of their forces will ambush us from another direction and pin us down.”

     “Then what do you suggest we do?”

     Boromir grit his teeth at the idea of retreat, the very thought irking his warrior’s heart.

     “Our numbers are few after the last battle, and even with Luinil remaining with us, the enemy force is still far greater than ours. If we manage to hold our position here, Sauron will simply send more orcs, Nazgûl even, until none of us are left. I would not have our men die needlessly.”

     “Then we just let them have the city?”

     “We live, brother.” Boromir gripped Faramir’s shoulders firmly, the rustling of leather gloves twisting in his cloak and vest loud and sharp to their ears in the quiet night. He met his brother’s eyes with an intensity and confidence that shocked the younger man. “We live to fight another day. We regroup and send our men to where they are most needed.”

     Faramir grimaced then, and his thoughts turned to Denethor and what they would have to tell him.

     “Father will not understand. He will see it as another loss in the face of looming destruction,” Faramir told him sadly.

     Their father had become cold and despairing since Boromir’s departure. It wasn’t as noticeable at first; there were small signs of stress and worry, but nothing alarming. It wasn’t until recently that a deep-seated hopelessness manifested in the once strong and steadfast leader, making many words fall on deaf ears. Convinced, was he, that Gondor would fall to ruin, especially with the enemy at his doorstep, his eldest son away on a dangerous journey, and the murmurings of a living rightful heir to the throne on his way.

     Boromir winced.

     “I know, and I am not eager to face him, but I will endure what is to come. There must be a way for us to make him see reason. And if he will not act, then perhaps we should.”

     Faramir looked at his brother as if he didn’t recognize him for a moment before a warm and proud smile tugged at his lips.

     “Is that a hint of wisdom I sense in you, Boromir? I never thought I’d see the day,” he joked.

     Boromir grinned bashfully, playfully shoving him aside.

     “There was much wisdom within the Fellowship, and there is much in you as well. Perhaps it is finally starting to rub off on me.” His grin faded as Luinil’s head popped up, her eyes narrowed as she let out a displeased growl. “We mustn't waste any more time.”

     “Go. I’m right behind you.” As Boromir disappeared, taking stairs two at a time, Faramir turned to an alert and wary Luinil, who was standing and glaring at the fog shrouded river. Her gaze snapped to his as he approached, the anger in her eyes softening as he reached out to her with a steady hand. Her snout met his palm with a questioning trill. “Would you bear me on your back while we lay waste to the enemies that approach, Luinil?”

     She gave him what he would equate to a laugh as she leaned down for him to climb on. He awkwardly clambered up her scales, holding onto the large white spikes protruding from her upper back as she stretched her leathery wings with a piercing cry, startling the hurriedly moving soldiers around them.

     “Move! Move! Fall back to Minas Tirith! Make haste!” Boromir commanded.

     He shook his head at the sight of Faramir holding onto Luinil for dear life as she launched them into the air, the blur of blue and white a bright and deadly beacon under the moonlight as they soared above the river Anduin. Of course he was riding a fire drake.

     The air was filled with a cacophony of noise: of thudding footsteps, the thunderous galloping of horses, the clank! of armor and weaponry, overlapping shouts repeating Boromir’s command of retreat, the soul chilling shriek of a fire drake and the roaring of flames. All eyes turned to the river. For a few brief moments, the silhouettes of misshapen boats with jagged edges and armored orcs of varying shapes and sizes were illuminated through the fog, and blood-curdling screams of pain and panic soon followed. Charred, mangled bodies fell gracelessly into the river by the dozen with loud splashes. The few boats just outside of the blast radius quickly scattered and rowed in different directions. Those that made it to shore were quickly cut down by anyone nearby.

     Faramir felt equal parts excitement and terror riding on the back of Luinil. He could feel the heat of her fire beneath him as she unleashed her fury on the approaching orcs, feel the cool, crisp wind whipping his hair about, hear it whistling in his ears as they flew at speeds fast enough to turn everything around them into indistinct shapes and mixes of colors. As they were coming back around for another pass, a barrage of arrows caused Luinil to swerve unexpectedly, many missing her or bouncing off her scales, but a few finding weak points and hitting their mark.

     The groups below them were taking turns firing their arrows, not letting Luinil find an easy opening to scorch their ranks and making Faramir slowly regret his decision of being a part of the distraction allowing their men to escape. His stomach churned and twisted into knots as she rolled and weaved effortlessly through the air, a fireball taking out part of the group and the section of bridges and buildings allowing the orcs entrance into the heart of the city. Beyond its outskirts, wave after wave of troops marched behind the ones they were currently engaging, and it quickly became apparent that their decision to fall back had been the right one.

     As Luinil corkscrewed through the air yet again, Faramir was nearly violently unseated as the sinister, ear-piercing shriek of the Nazgûl sounded. One hand had a death grip on the fire drake while the other was torn between covering an ear or reaching for his sword. What looked like one Ringwraith quickly split into two, then three. This only seemed to make Luinil more determined as she rounded on them, almost daring them to attack. She and Talion had probably fought them many times, he surmised, but he was not so eager.

     “We must go, Luinil! My people need us!”

     He tugged on one of her spikes as if it were a horse’s reins (feeling a brief shock of panic as he realized his error), and though she gave a screech of protest, she listened, flying back towards the line of retreating men. She swooped down and landed just long enough for Faramir to haul Boromir—who was slaying the last of the enemy’s ground troops at shore and ushering the last of their men forward—up behind him. His brother barely had time to protest and grab hold of him before they were off again. Across the Pelennor Fields the soldiers raced, a few unfortunate souls being scooped up into the deadly claws and jaws of fellbeasts. Luinil provided what cover fire she could, but there was only so much she could do when she was one against three.

     And then, as the first rays of sunlight were just breaking above the horizon, a powerful and pure light joined them, emanating from the staff of a white robed wizard on horseback riding out to meet them. With Gandalf’s aid, the Nazgûl scattered and fled, circling back to Osgiliath as the soldiers of Gondor rode through the front gates of Minas Tirith. A great host of horses filled the courtyard of the city’s first level, recently awakened faces poking out of windows and doors at the commotion. Room was quickly made as Luinil touched down with them, screams of terror erupting from unsuspecting townsfolk at her arrival. It was the sight of Faramir and Boromir atop her that eventually calmed them, and only Gandalf was brave enough to approach, Luinil and Shadowfax meeting each other’s curious and cautious gazes.

     “Mithrandir!” came Faramir’s urgent greeting. “They’ve taken the bridge and west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the river and the lands to the north.”

     As Gandalf turned, the sight of the hobbit seated in front of him gave Faramir pause. He didn’t even register Boromir leaping to the ground until he heard the relieved shout of, “Pippin!” from his brother.

     “Boromir!”

     Pippin slid down from Shadowfax with a bit of effort, meeting a crouching Boromir—who pulled him into a crushing embrace—on the cool white stone.

     “You’re alright. I thought… I thought you…” He choked back the sentence before he could finish it. When he and Pippin pulled away from each other, he looked up to find Gandalf’s glad but exasperated gaze trained on them. He stood immediately, eyes wide in disbelief. “Gandalf? I… How?”

     “Happy as I am to see you alive and well, there will be time to catch up later, Boromir.” His worried eyes flitted back over to Faramir. “For now, I need both of you to tell me everything that has happened.”

Chapter Text

[5/26/2022]:

     Hello, new and old readers alike! Just leaving this here to tell you that the fic is undergoing quite a bit of re-writing at the moment and to apologize profusely for how long it'll be before the next new chapter is up. Life for me lately has been a bit rough personally on top of going into my last year of college, not to mention the state of the world right now, and I'm so very sorry I haven't updated in so long (and that the last few chapters to go up weren’t great either). This fic is my baby. I'm determined to make it as well written and amazing as possible, and what's up right now just doesn't feel like that to me.

To my returning readers:

    I'm very grateful to all of you for sticking with me for as long as you have with Fine Line. Thank you so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, and insightful comments and wonderful discussions over the years. I don't think I've ever enjoyed writing for a fic as much as I have for this one, and having a fantastic community of fellow readers and writers who give feedback and constructive criticism has been amazing. I'm not the best at sitting down and planning things out, checking for plot holes and inconsistencies and things that haven't been clearly explained or expressed. I plan to take my time and rectify that with these re-writes. The re-writes will probably consist of adding content, some structural changes, and some subplot tweaking, but it should still be recognizable to what you read previously when I'm finished with it. I'll make a note of all the changes at the beginning of each chapter as I go [10/15/22: There are actually quite a few, so... Maybe not? XD], and I have a copy of the original (what’s posted rn) if anyone ever still wants to read that later on. When everything is finished and I’ve gotten back to writing chapter seventeen, I’ll take this message down.

     Again, I’m so sorry for the 6 month absence. I hope all of you are staying safe and doing as well as you can be. See you in a little while. <3 *hugs*

~Angel

[10/15/22]:

     Hiii! Popping in to say that I'm about a third of the way through chapter re-writes as of now. I definitely think the story flows a bit better, and there are quite a few tweaks and new things in the earlier chapters that I think will add a lot of goodness and meaning (but much of the other content remains the same; it's nothing too crazy). I was hoping to have much more done by now, but life has been... rough, to say the least. July was a really tragic and heartbreaking month, and then with school starting back up just a few weeks later, I haven't really had much time to breathe and recover from it. I'm EXHAUSTED on so many levels, but at least we're past midterm now. It's been a busy semester. Also, it's crazy that I started this fic during my senior year of high school, and now it's my senior year of college. Where did the time go???

     I hope everyone has been doing okay and life has treated you well. <3 *hugs* I'll continue to keep you posted on the story's progress.

~Angel

[11/13/22]:


Current Struggles:

Eltariel Characterization

This by far is probably the thing I disliked the most about the original 16 chapters. I don't feel like a did a good job at all of giving Eltariel a natural character progression. I gave her a backstory, yeah, but reading back over her shifts in personality and mindset were giving me whiplash. XD I want to give her a growth arc of sorts. Like, being defeated by Sauron humbles her in some ways or shakes her enough that she's not quite the Eltariel we see in the main game. She remembers who she was and how she was like before becoming a Blade of Galadriel, and it's a slow, steady struggle to remember how to think of herself as a person and not a tool of war. I want us to get to see the more vulnerable sides to her character, and that's a difficult place to get to in a way that makes sense atm, I guess? And having the BoG DLC now and being able to play it means more opportunities to study her skillset, character, journey, etc., and I've learned quite a bit about her in the first few missions alone that I'd like to include.

Passage of Time

Shadow of Mordor begins about one year before Bilbo, Thorin, and co. depart the Shire for Erebor. That's a lot of years (78, I believe) to stretch between two games, and I guess I'm a bit afraid that giving a more specific timeline won't make as much sense as when the passage of time was more ambiguous? I want to be able to connect things with canon (this universe's version of canon) as much as I can without having large gaps of time. I have the chapter where the years between games and events is made clear done. It's just been making me feel a bit anxious.

Storytelling Through Flashbacks

Something I've been experimenting with quite a bit is covering more POVs and scenes that didn't get fully expanded on last time around through flashbacks. Some work really well, and others I'm not sure should be there, or are maybe in the wrong place(s). I think these help expand on relationships between the members of the Fellowship as well as how Talion and Celebrimbor come to care about each other on deeper levels. A lot of them have been really fun to write, and they've made me think deeper on what certain words and actions really mean(t) and how they can contribute to the stories being told at hand.


     I figured it might help to leave little updates of where I'm at in the re-writing process. I've gone back through all the comment threads thus far for reminders of things that weren't properly explained, plot holes, points of confusion, etc. One of the things I love about being an author on here is being able to have conversations with people about what a work means to them and their POV on things. (And sometimes, being able to reread the comments talking about how much a reader loved something is what gets me through a tough night of writing, or a day where my brain tries to tell me I suck at this and should quit while I'm ahead. <3) If you have any insights on the things mentioned above, the original chapters posted rn, or anything else that comes to mind, it would be greatly appreciated.

     As always, thank you so much for your patience in all of this. When winter break starts in a few weeks, I'll hopefully be able to get a lot more done. The end of this semester is super packed, and I'm just trying to hang on until December. I hope you all are well and that life has been kind to you these last few months. Much love. *hugs*

~Angel

[12/7/22]

Hello, all!

I hope you're doing well. <3 A brief update on what I'm currently working on:

     I'm making a lot of good progress on flashbacks and some subplot stuff that I didn't really touch on the first go round. The flashbacks are for our boys as well as Eltariel and some of our other allies in and out of the fellowship, and I think they're doing a good job of filling in gaps when it comes to relationships, and some scenes that won't get explicitly explained and focused on in the fic. I liked the idea that Baranor, Idril, and all of our friends in Mordor are continuing the fight in their own way while Talion is gone. I had plans to tie all of that in with the Battle at the Black Gate in the Return of the King arc, and there were so many little things I wanted to do with it that I just... didn't. I didn't know how to fit it into the story without it feeling forced or just kind of there, but I think I'm making it fit in a way that feels natural and purposeful rn.

     There's also a bit of characterization tweaking going on, particularly with Eltariel and Boromir. I want to explore the complexity of Talion and Boromir's friendship more, especially since they end up separating at Osgiliath and won't see each other for a while. I'm trying to make sure that the Boromir that we saw in the deleted scene with Faramir in Gondor gets a chance to shine through more. And Eltariel is... difficult to write. XD But I think I'm starting to figure her out a bit more, at least my version of her. There is this careful balance of headstrong, goal-oriented, confident canon Eltariel and the vulnerable, lighthearted, sillier side of her that I'm trying to keep. It's hard. It's really hard. Scenes with her in it are the ones I've reworked the most these past few weeks. I think her self-awareness and the courage to admit her wrongdoings will slowly help her find herself again. It's just a matter of dong a good job of writing that. No pressure, right? :')

     And to jump back to flashback discussion really quick. Y'all. I cannot wait for you to read some of the new Cel/Talion flashbacks and scenes. I have loved crafting these and being to better express the emotion and impact of everything, and help shape and explain how Talion and Cel end up together. Aaahhh the new version of the first dream sequence in chapter three especially has brought me so much joy! Big, big thank you to Foxi06 for their input on everything I posted about last. It's been such a huge help. <3

     December is... not the kindest month for me. The weeks surrounding Christmas wreak havoc on me emotionally. Winter is the season of loss for my family, and I've had a few close loved ones leave me in December. So I'm sending love to anyone else who struggles in December or winter time in general. *hugs* I'll try to have more progress done on chapters by the time the new year rolls around so I can share that with you all. Take care of yourselves, and enjoy the holiday season if you celebrate things!

~Angel

[12/14/22]

     A quick message to say oh my gosh some of these new scenes are sooooo good (to me, at least) and add so much. I'm trying very hard not to fall into the trap of adding too much new stuff and bloating the fic (had to stop myself from adding an entire new chapter at one point because I was getting a bit carried away XD). Also, I write music! I'm graduating with my degree in Music Theory/Composition in May 2023. :) So of course I've been working on songs for this fic as well. Most are incomplete and scattered in pieces throughout a lot of files, but there are a couple that I feel comfortable enough to share. They're midi recordings since I write in music notation software rather than DAWs, and I have very little knowledge of how to mix properly, so they're not great, but I'm happy with where they are rn. 


     The first is a song called "Afterlife," which is essentially Talion's theme. The mental image I had while writing it was of Talion plummeting towards the ground after the One Ring is destroyed (that scene where Mount Doom spits out giant lava rocks that kills the Nazgul), life flashing before his eyes, Celebrimbor reaching down for him after he's released from the flaming eye. As the last chord rings out, the two's hands finally grasp, and Talion's vision fades in a burst of light. That probably sounds really dramatic. XD I don't have live musicians to sing the lyrics for this one, but if I did they would be: "There is a fine line between darkness and light. Through fires of war, I endure."

     The second, shorter song is called "Departure From Nurn." Nurn is my personal favorite region of Mordor, and Talion's as well. It's a place of light and light and hope in a land that's often bleak and dark and colorless, and the idea behind this piece was to capture the magic of that, as well as the feeling and idea that more good and hope and light will result from embarking on their journey, even if things are a little uncertain at the moment.

     Okay, back to writing now. :)

~Angel

[1/16/23]

     Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season if you celebrate things, a good end to last year, and a great start to this one. An update on where things are right now:

     Eltariel's character and backstory gets expanded quite a bit before the Fellowship arrive at Lothlorien. (And hopefully after. I'm still mainly in the Fellowship of the Ring arc of the fic as of now.) As I mentioned before, this quest is also a bit of a journey of self-(re)discovery for her. She has a few flashbacks of her own, and some conversations with others that give us a look into not only her past, but the internal struggle she's currently facing. She and Talion have a really good (I think so, at least) heart to heart conversation at one point that really helps both of them on their own paths. (I admit that I may be projecting some of my own struggles through her on occasion, haha. I didn't intend for things to be that way, but a part of her journey became personal to me along the way, and that has really helped me in writing some of her new stuff and improving her character arc as a whole. The things you learn about trauma, coping mechanisms, and defensiveness/hypervigilance when you go to therapy.)

     I've done quite a bit with trying to set the scene better in chapters. More descriptions of things with the five senses and an attempt to paint a picture of where things are happening in a way that makes it easy to imagine being there. That's my hope, anyway. The magical thing about the LotR, particularly in regards to the movies, is how the visuals and the soundtracks truly make you feel like you're in another world. I'm no artist, and writing music (especially anything Howard Shore-esque) is complex and takes a lot of time, so I'll just have to try to capture some of that magic via words for now. I hope it helps you see and feel the scenes better.

     Celebrimbor stuff! Something I failed spectacularly at in the original version of this fic is highlighting the differences between wraith Cel and actual Cel. Canon Celebrimbor was described (from what I've found) as a benevolent leader of his people, kind, selfless, caring, a lover of knowledge and crafting. My mindset when I first made the decision that Talion falls in love with Celebrimbor was that Talion could see all of those things in wraith Cel, even if it didn't happen often. He caught glimpses of the wonderful person that Celebrimbor was in his lifetime. But not only that, a part of him resonated with vengeful wraith Cel as well. Even if they didn't always agree on things when it came to morality or how to treat people. Through the shared pain of watching their families being murdered, that anger and the questions of what's next/what's left, they found kindred spirits of sorts in each other in that way. Bonding over similar trauma, I suppose is another way to put it? And with them being bound, sharing thoughts and emotions with one another, he got to know Cel on a deeply personal level--the good, the bad, the ugly and painful. Again, I really failed to articulate or show much of that at all before, so I've tried very hard in these re-writes to rectify that.

     The tie-ins of our allies in Mordor (Idril, Baranor, Shelob, our war chiefs, etc.) to some LotR plot things, as well as just fleshing out those things throughout the story rather than throwing a rather badly condensed version into an interlude chapter, are coming along great! I hate the idea that the wonderful characters and personalities in Mordor kind of disappear for a while since Talion and co don't get to Mordor until late in the fic. I think the tie-ins are a good way to break up what can be dialogue or action heavy sections, or just really angsty, emotional ones. I think they bring a bit of humor and lightheartedness, as well as a change of scenery, and they show the effect of the LotR events on the Mordor Talion built during his time in the games. I like the friends he made, the orcs he fought alongside, the people and creatures he helped: all the good he did and changes he helped make a reality shouldn't be completely lost in the shuffle of the plot (which they absolutely were).

     Tomorrow is the first day of my last semester of college! I'm excited! Also a bit terrified. XD But mostly excited! I will do my best to look ahead and get some more work done on this fic when I can. (Re)writing this has been so amazing. Hard and frustrating at times, but very much worthwhile and a lot of fun. Again, thank you so much to everyone for your patience and encouragement and suggestions. Much love and many good vibes, prayers, etc. to you. See you in a bit. <3

~Angel

[3/17/23]

     It's spring break, and I've gotten so much good work done on this over the last few days. :)

     My biggest thing was finally getting all of my Eltariel backstory and character arc stuff in order. I'm really happy with how things have turned out regarding that, and while it's a definite departure from canon-her, I like it. She's definitely more vulnerable towards the end of the Fellowship arc, and we'll see her start to become more comfortable with that when they're back to traveling. She deserves a happy ending too, not just the boys, and I'd like that happy ending to be with a full heart, not a cold and/or broken one. The Lothlorien chapters are good about setting her on that path of learning how to open up again, I think. <3

     I've done a lot of book rereading, comparing book and movie scenes and, in that vein, book and movie character adaptations. Boromir, Denethor, and Gollum have been sticking out to me the most.

     I love that Boromir is given the chance to grow and become a better person (if we compare Council of Elrond him to Amon Hen him), that we see him struggle under the weight of trying to be the perfect son, wanting to protect his people, wanting to truly do something and make a big and obvious impact in the quest and the war against Mordor. I wonder how much of that is lost if he doesn't try to take the Ring from Frodo. If Talion gets through to him, does Boromir lose that growth--is it less significant or impactful--or does that just make it different, especially since there's two more books/movies worth of opportunities to grow and change? I know different is not always bad, but I'm much more accustomed to writing character insert fics where it's like the inserted characters had always been a part of the plot: seamless integration into the story. It wasn't my intention to stray from that, but the deeper into rewriting I go, the more I want to shift some things away from canon. (This is a bigger dilemma for another day.) 

     The way I forgot how drastically different book Denethor is from movie Denethor. OOF. XD While movie Denethor lashes out in anger and hysteria, book Denethor is just done. Book him has given up hope, and events then on result from his inaction rather than movie him's frantic or non-sensical action. He still treats Faramir and Boromir how he does, but his overall temperament is different (I think, at least), and I kind of want to see what I can do with tweaking it. Namely, for my sanity more than anything, not sending Faramir to his death after telling him he wishes he was dead.

     Ah, Gollum. Poor soul. I. Want to save him? Which. I know he dies how he does because Eru deems it so. But what if he helps destroy the One Ring in a different way? Idk, maybe I'm trying to do too much, but a redeemed Gollum doing the most to help Frodo and Sam is an interesting train of thought. I'm a "see the good in everyone" kind of person, even the awful and worst evil scum of the world. No one starts life as a horrible person. There's got to be good in them somewhere, even if it's just half of a microscopic shred of good. Gollum's not the worst of all evils or anything as dramatic, of course, so it's possible to make that idea work if I do it right. Right? I'll come back to that. XD

     There are other scenes and character interactions I'm looking at revisiting soon as well, but those three in particular have been at the forefront of my mind.

     Also, things really start to go downhill after chapter ten, huh? :') I--Oof. Yikes. Ow. I cringed a bit reading back through the second half of this fic. Why did I ever think the last few chapters were publish worthy? I am so sorry. XD Seriously, oh my gosh. The Two Towers arc will be better. Much better. It will not suck as much as it does now. Not to say that parts of it aren't good! But a whole lot can be much improved. Good gosh. Okay, end of mini-rant about that.

     Writing the little glimpses into Mordor in Talion's absence has made me quite happy. It's just a handful of scenes scattered every other chapter or so, but it just makes me so happy to continue the tale of all our Mordor based friends. And writing for orcs is so much fun. XD

     Found an elvish grammar guide (for Quenya specifically) that has been extremely helpful for fixing what I've butchered thus far, which is to say a lot of the Quenya. Most of it. But I'm working on it. XD

     Last major change to what I've gotten done is that, while the Fellowship arc still finishes out at 10 chapters, I made what's currently chapter one the beginning of current chapter two. That combined is the new chapter one (at least for now). I added a chapter between Lothlorien and Amon Hen; I basically expanded on their time spent in Lothlorien by having one chapter be mainly Eltariel backstory and development and the other be the fallout from Moria and the interactions that happen between then and their departure.

     I don't know when I'll have this much free time to write again until maybe the last few weeks of school? Maybe post-graduation? College is hard and gets very busy, so I honestly have no clue. XD Thank you again for being willing to stick with me this far. It's been so wonderful to fall in love with this story all over again, and I'm really excited to share the new and improved version of this fic with you. See you again soon.

~Angel

[3/29/23]

     The rewrites are finally complete. Oh my gosh. I'm crying tears of happiness right now. :') Aaaaahhhhh I'm so nervous. XD But also really excited. I'm so happy I get to share this work with everyone. It's come such a long way from where it was. Thank you so much for sticking with me on this. <3

     I don't know when the next chapter will be up. (I've neglected a bit of homework and practice time in the last week to finally get this all together. Not a drastic amount, so it's fine. XD) It'll be new material from here on out, so I'll have to sit down and start outlining and drafting again. It won't be another 16 months, I promise. XD And it will be of great quality and not rushed. :)

     I'm keeping this "chapter" page as a place to post if I'm going to be away for a while, if I'm stuck and need to bounce ideas around, and things like that. April is concert/recital month and I have quite a few performances. And May is graduation month. So if I don't post anything new between now and mid-May, it's because I'm attempting to get the last few months of college together. XD Shoot me a comment if you need anything or have questions/thoughts, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. <3

See y'all in a bit. <3

~Angel

[5/10/23]:

Hiii!

     Dropping by to say that I'm hoping to get back to working more on the next chapter this weekend/the beginning of next week! I'm graduating from college at the end of the week, so I've been really wrapped up in end of the semester work (I'm taking a break from writing my last school academic paper EVER rn). I've got a rough outline of next chapter started, so we're going to pick up where we left off and start Return of the King content. We'll also get back to Talion and Celebrimbor flashbacks and dream sequences, and maybe see him reunite with some of his Mordor friends.

     I've got an ending in the works, which is pretty similar to the one I settled on a few years ago, but a bit different to account for some lore I ran across during hiatus. I think it gives Talion a bit more closure and peace while still letting him be happily in love with Cel.

     I've been writing a lot of music as well! I had two pieces based on this fic performed on my senior composition recital. The three piece character suite that I wrote and conducted had three sections (one for Cel, Talion, and Eltariel), and I've expanded each from a small chamber ensemble to an orchestra! The other piece was a quintet I played in centered around the Barad-dur scene in A Promise and the eventual reunion of the boys and their trip to Valinor. I'll upload those somewhere at some point.

     Beyond that, I've been performing and writing papers/music non-stop lately, but I'm almost done! Then I can sleep in and chill for a while. I can't wait for Friday. :') I hope everyone is well, and I'll talk to you more soon! <3

~Angel

[6/22/23]

Hi, all.

     It's been a little over a month since school let out (it's so nice to finally have time to just breathe again!), and I've been slowly but surely working on the next chapter. Everything being mostly new material means triple checking the timeline of events--the ones focused on in the books and movies and the ones happening in the background at the same time as well--and a very long Google Doc of notes and things to keep in mind. It's not coming together quite as smoothly as I'd like, but it's a start. I'd say it's at least halfway done. When chapter bits haven't been very cooperative, I've been planning out the rest of the Two Towers arc and extending my original RotK arc a bit. There are some rough drafts of later scenes towards the end of the fic that I can't wait for us to get to. When I said Talion and Cel would get their happy ending, I meant it, and the journey to Valinor and what lies beyond that will be a part of the fic. <3

     I do apologize that updates may be slow going for a while. It's been... a year. Describing it as "the worst year of my life" probably sounds overly dramatic, especially because a lot of good and wonderful things happened throughout. But the bad and the awful? Losing six family members (including my sister) in eleven months, on top of barely making it through my last year of college, dealing with some health scares, financial problems, and a whole host of other mental health struggles has been rough, to say the least. The depression and the anxiety were absolutely horrific, and while I've come a long way in dealing with and working through it all, I'm still not feeling the best. Every day is a battle of trying to be healthy and finding what my new "normal" is, but each day is also a bit brighter as well, which is good. Rewriting this fic was one of the few things that kept me sane during the year, and I'm very happy and proud of the new version of the work, and so very grateful for everyone's patience during that time. But now that it's summer and I have so much more time now, I'm also trying to prioritize my mental health and my family, among other life things I've been putting off because of how busy school has kept me the last four years. I hate to ask for everyone's patience again after such a long wait last time. :'( I said I wouldn't post anything that was rushed and of subpar quality, and I intend to stick by that.

     Beyond that, I hope everyone is doing well and that the start of the summer has been kind to you. Shoot me a comment on here or a message on Twitter if you need anything from me. Much love, and tty in a little while. *hugs*

~Angel

[11/7/23]

Hey, everyone. <3

     So, life's been a bit of a mess lately. I've lost two more family members since the last note I left here, and the side of my family that lives overseas is just an absolute disaster. There's just... so much. There's so much going on, and I was in such a not great place for the latter half of October. Learned a lot of really heavy, life changing stuff that put me in a not great headspace, but I'm doing a lot better now. I'm happy to say that the worst of the anxiety-depression spiral I was stuck in for the better part of a year lifted around mid-September, and it has been really wonderful to remember what hope and optimism feel like. After that, I fell down the Good Omens and Doctor Who (I'm about halfway through season 10 rn) rabbit holes, so I've been bouncing between new fandom hyper fixations for a month or so rather than writing a whole bunch. And I've been looking after my parents at home since graduation: my mom, who had a near death experience at the start of the summer (and has recovered quite well, thankfully) and my dad, who's carried the weight of everything that has happened since last summer without a single complaint (but I can see all the strain it's put on him). I've basically put life outside my family and close friends on hold for at least the rest of the year. Been working through a lot of personal stuff via therapy and things I've learned in therapy and seeing the difference(s) each day as well. <3

     I have been brainstorming in that time though!

     Chapter 16 came together in two days of sudden inspiration and heavy researching. It had been fighting me for a little while. I kept all of my old notes from before I rewrote everything so that I could look back and see what direction I was taking things once I was all caught up again. But after all the things I added and changed, it wasn't much help and not really compatible with what's posted now, so I had to start the RotK arc basically from scratch. Then there were the things I wanted to do and scenes I wanted to include, but there was no way to get to them that made sense. Like, there was a dream sequence type thing between Talion, Eltariel, Cel, and Sauron, but the way I got there was so far-fetched and stretching the universe rules I'd established that I just got rid of it altogether. Even the scene just between Talion and Sauron that I reimagined it to be wouldn't cooperate. Dream scenes in general for this arc have been fighting me quite hard, actually. To the point where I'm not sure if we'll have any more unless it's an Eltariel nightmare maybe. Idk yet, though. Anyway! I decided to put that off for another day and just focus on what came after how we left Two Towers.

     I deeply enjoyed writing for Faramir and Boromir. I love how much they care for each other, and how nothing could break the brotherly bond they had: not Denethor and his cruelty, a death dreamed ahead of time, a war against Sauron and his orcs. I am so happy I get to write them seeing out the War of the Ring and the beginning of the Fourth Age together. There are fun adventures ahead for them, I'm sure. I love being able to give people happy endings. <3 It'll be quite nice to write Talion returning to one of his strongholds and being around his orc friends again, and eventually reuniting with Idril, Baranor, etc.! I've had fun writing the Allied Mordor Forces subplot and keeping up with our in-game friends a bit. Coordinating the Battle of the Black Gate is going to be a doozy though. I'm not the best fight scene writer. XD And that leaves Haldir and Eltariel, who I'm not too sure what to do with atm. I don't really see what value would be added if she were to join the trio along the Paths of the Dead. I can see some nice scenes with Merry and Eowyn though {It's 2 AM (the peak thinking hour!), and as I type this, there are a few different scenes with them playing out in my head that I really want to go draft. XD}. I guess I just really wish there were more scenarios where her skills could be put to better use. She's an assassin after all: a tracker, a thinker, a planner, a hunter. Aragorn and Legolas had tracking Merry and Pippin covered, and there's not really much planning and hunting to be done on a large open battlefield. There'll be opportunities after the fall of Sauron, of course, but I guess I just feel bad that she's kind of just been a bit of a tag along for a while. A character development while, of course, which is good! But I just want more for her.

     Beyond the planning for the near future, I've also been working backwards from the (current) very end. I have an early epilogue scene draft from all the way back in early 2019, with some minor edits in 2021! I had a very clear idea of where I was going when I started this, and it hasn't changed too much! I've expanded upon it a bit and shifted some things around, but it's pretty much the same as it's been. The best part has been the last leg of the journey to get to the Undying Lands and the things that happen between setting sail from Middle-earth and arriving. Talion and Celebrimbor have never really sat down and talked about all that's happened since they met. They've just been soul bound open books to each other, and even though they're so connected and familiar with everything about one another, they've never had a proper conversation about it all. Wraith Cel and Vengeful Talion were not nice people, and they weren't nice to each other more often than not. Both of them did a lot of unspeakable and not good things, and, of course, no one escapes from the trauma that comes with war, coupled with the inability to die. They have a lot to unpack, and it's a long journey. It will still absolutely be a happy ending for them though, and don't think I've forgotten about Ioreth and Dirhael and Cel's wife and daughter either! They'll show up too!

     And to top all of that off, in between writing scenes, I've done a bit of composing as well. Short tunes that have helped me visualize and flesh out different sections I'm working on at the time. Some have helped set the tone and mood for things and others are what I would imagine playing in the background of a cutscene, bringing together all the scattered bits of dialogue and setting description. I'm trying to put together something longer and more substantial. I had vague notions of writing a sort of soundtrack to accompany the fic back in 2021 when I wrote the first draft of what I consider Talion's theme (and it gave me the most vivid imagery of a scene in the RotK arc when I first listened to it all the way through that has been seared into my brain ever since), and I'd still like to do that. Writing for large ensembles is hard, though. I've had, and still have, a steep learning curve as a flute player. Having so much experience in most every kind of ensemble (instrumental and vocal) has helped immensely though. I'll throw together and share an official playlist when I've got enough songs done.

     Ooh, this is a lot, looking back over it. So sorry. XD As always, feel free to leave some comments here or come chat with me on socials (Twitter and Bluesky @Tgaret990) if you have any questions or things you'd like to discuss. Or even if you just want to say hi! I love hearing people's thoughts on things. Those conversations have been the most rewarding and wonderful part about working on this fic, and I really cherish them. I hope you all are doing well and that the rest of the year treats you kindly. Thank you for continuing to stick with me on this nearly five(!) year journey. See you in a little while. <3

~Angel

[1/21/24]

Hi, everyone! :)

     Aaahhh we're in the home stretch, y'all! There's a final chapter count! The happy end is in sight! I've got a basic outline of everything from ch 17 up through the epilogue done. Now it's just getting words to cooperate. XD

     Uuugh, if I can just get chapter 17 to work with me! I have spent so much time writing and rewriting and banging my head against my desk trying to make things come together. I've gotten a lot more progress on it done this week, but it's just been a frustrating time. I think I've found ways around what I was struggling with before, but now it's just a matter of getting everything that's happening with each character group to flow smoothly. There's also the matter of balancing and weaving together book and movie material. Fine Line has mostly followed the structure of the extended editions of the movies with bits of the books substituted in where I've felt like it fits best. This arc will have the most changes, and I hope you don't mind too much that the reason for some of them will simply be "just because". Many of them will be things I've had on my mind since I started writing this way back when, and I'm very excited to finally bring those things to life! <3

     Beyond that, the only other major changes you might see to the rest of the work will be some basic grammar edits (so that wordier sections and section transitions read smoother) and the addition of footnotes for translations of everything not in Common Tongue (Sindarin, Quenya, Black Speech, Khuzdul, etc.), assuming I can get said footnotes to work. XD Still a bit new to it, so it might take some trial and error. (I blame the Good Omens fandom for sparking my intrigue. XD)

     Thank you all again for your continued patience and support over these last few years. It means the world to me. As always, please don't hesitate to pop down into the comments or over to my socials with any questions or thoughts. I'd love to hear from you. I hope everyone has had a great start to 2024, and the next time you see me should be when chapter 17 goes up. Much love and see you in a bit! <3 *hugs*

~Angel

[3/15/24]

     Well... I did say should. :')

     I really did plan to finish chapter 17 and keep moving forward. I got a lot of great work on that done today! As for other things, haha... Well.

     I've been double and triple checking my timeline in regards to the events of Return, specifically everything from the Battle of Helm's Deep up to the Battle of the Black Gate. Realized I'd missed a few things and gotten some timings wrong. Little things with simple fixes. Then I went back a bit further. And rechecked the timeline of everything written thus far. Found I'm missing a lot of minor things that have influence over bigger events. I'm doing my best to adhere closely to the timeline of events as its marked in the Appendices of Return of the King, with a bit of tweaking as is needed. What it's all come down to now is that I haven't read the LotR books since before I originally started writing this. XD And now that I own the books and I've been going back through them, I've realized that there's so much that I've forgotten. The same can be said for the games, though more on the artifacts, collectibles, and world building side of things (which have provided me with a lot of game lore answers to questions I've had for ages). Basically, my brain kicked into overdrive about lore and timelines and continuity and so many other things when I got to the RotK arc, and now that I'm focusing a bit more on that, I feel like I need to go back and fix. :')

     I'd only ever meant to, when the epilogue was around the corner, do a final big read through and fix any weird grammar and formatting stuff. That's all I was going to do! Then there was taking the Allied Mordor subplot(s) and all the flashbacks (Talion and Cel's specifically) and looking at them altogether in one doc instead of scattered throughout chapters: making sure I covered all things mentioned, that character interactions made sense, that everything written had a purpose. Realized there were some things that needed to be altered, added, tweaked, etc. There's just so much world building involved in this fic, and I didn't realize how much until I read back through some things and tried to poke holes. Like the concept of producing orcs via vats in the games! There's an artifact in Shadow of Mordor that talks about underground vats that create orcs by the hundreds in Udun. And then there are bits of idle conversation you can hear in Shadow of War where Uruks and Ologs talk about Vat-Keepers, what it's like coming out of vats, their understanding of "dying" and being put back into a body. Stuff I never would have thought about before, but just is in the games! Then that prompts the question of what happens to orc souls when their bodies perish. And then that prompts the question of the origin of orcs in the first place and how we got here in the Third Age. I think you get the idea. And I've come up with answers to those questions, even with all the ambiguity and uncertainty surrounding those sorts of lore questions, among other things, in the wider fandom. Point is, I've come across quite a few of these sorts of dilemmas (regarding game, book, and movie canon), and I've been spending a lot of time sorting them out. Started a separate section in one of my Google docs about lore specifics that's been getting longer by the day.

     And there's other things, too, like deciding the path of book vs movie choices in the trilogy. Opting for a more book-like Faramir and a more movie-like Aragorn. Choosing to include Haldir and the Galadhrim (and all the weird logistics and explanations that entails) rather than Elladan, Elrohir, and the Rangers for Helm's Deep. Theoden's handling of everything post-Wormtongue and pre-Pelannor Fields. I went back and picked those kinds of choices apart to see if I'd explained them in such a way that it makes sense that events happened how they did, that characters reacted who they did. And when I found that the answer was no at times, I endeavoured to rewrite things in such a way that the answer would be yes. That's when I'm asking the questions like, "When would the Galadhrim have left Lothlorien to travel to Helm's Deep, how long would it have taken given the terrain and them going on foot (taking into account elven constitution--the need for less rest and the ability to travel faster than Men), how many could be spared for Haldir given the impending attacks from Dol Guldur, did they stay with the Rohirrim for the Muster and how would that have affected the BotPF (if at all), etc.?"

     And then, on top of that, I also started examining thematic things, how I was using the setting to set the tone/mood of scenes, if I was showing character growth and the passage of time through body language, dialogue, and physical descriptions. And that whole bit has to do with the fact that so much has happened in my personal life since I posted the rewritten version of this, and I see a lot of things in a completely different light then I did then. I'm such a different person now to the college gal who was working through an ocean of grief and stress of a year-ish ago. I see and feel that in how I read and watch things, how I feel about myself and the world, and how a lot of my newer writing in general, for this fic and others, has shaped up. One of the beautiful struggles of writing a work over a long stretch of time (years) is that as life goes on, you grow as a person and writer, so the story shifts and grows and changes as you go along as well. And once you get so far, you have to decide if how that growth and changes should reflect through the entire work or stay as you currently have it. I had a really nice conversation about this sort of thing the other day with another author on one of their longer works when they had voiced their own struggles with that.

     This is a very long, rambling, anxious way of saying this fic is my baby and it'll never be perfect, but I just want to get it right. I have never been so invested in a work before, and I want to get it as close to how I've imagined and wanted as I can. No stone unturned and no plot hole or confusion remaining when I post the epilogue and officially declare this fic completed. So I'm replaying the games, rewatching the movies, rereading the books. I'm triple checking that everything makes sense and serves a purpose. I've got a million tabs open while I'm researching things about characters, events, how long it takes to travel places, the syntax of Quenya, how the Halls of Mandos works, etc. And I want to do this fantastic world and these wonderful stories that Tolkien and others built justice within my own. I'm sorry. I'm sure it sounds like I'm just overthinking it all and fretting over nothing. If 17 1/2 year old me only knew what she was getting into when she posted the original first chapter... XD

     If you've read this far on this latest little update note (and I honestly wouldn't blame anyone who doesn't XD), thank you. <3 For listening to me worry and rant. For sticking with me on this. For letting me know that you're invested and that you're in it for the long haul. It really means a lot. If nothing else, I just really wanted to explain A) why I've gone a bit silent, B) where my head is currently at, and C) some of what to expect the next time an actual chapter goes up. *hides face in hands* Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh. *takes deep breath* I will finish this fic. I will. And it'll be great, and the boys will have their happy ending, and my hyper fixating can ping freely between Good Omens, Doctor Who, and Broadchurch. Until then, back to writing and adulting I go. Much love, and see you in a little while. *hugs*

~Angel

[4/20/24]

     Hi, all! I hope you've been well. Back with a much less anxious update of where I'm at on things. Sorry for being all panicky last time. <3

     So, general things! There's quite a bit of book influence in some of the newer drafts. It helps when you actually own all the books now and don't have to rely strictly on SparkNotes and memory. XD But there is history and worldbuilding and character development stuff in the books that the movies don't touch upon that I thought improved things. Also using the LOTRO a bit to help with travel and landscape descriptions. Just arrived in Eregion the other week and geeked out so much getting to quest and explore there. :D There are also a lot of references to some minor lore bits from the Shadow games. I have a growing YouTube playlist of all the game bits I'm referencing that I'd quite forgotten, and I'm wondering if it would be helpful to link those vids in the notes just in case? And I've got a few footnotes I'm excited to add! Some are explanations of lore things that I've altered for the fic (like the origin of Orcs I mentioned last time), and some are references or tiny anecdotes of things that have happened within the AU but aren't explicitly covered in the fic (like Eltariel's friendship with Legolas). Umm... Only other maybe noticeable things are the added descriptions of character appearances and some settings? I feel like it better shows the passage of time so that it's not just "several days later," "a month passed," etc., and highlights the state of the characters at varying points of the fic. There's the obvious stuff, like Talion's eyes and voice and things like that when he's dealing with Isildur's Ring. But there's also things like Idril starting off the fic with her usual short hair, and then hitting the Two Towers arc and it being down her back, uneven from where a sword or axe has caught bits of it in battle, covered in and darkened by soot. I think those sorts of little things add a lot, you know?

     Progress wise, I'm about halfway through the Moria chapter on fixes and such. I've got chunks written of where I left off in Gondor and Mordor and Rohan as well. They're more block paragraphs of all the stuff that needs to be covered and how XD, but that means it should be easier to properly write things out when I get back up to that point. There is, as of now, an extra chapter after the Council of Elrond, so the two chapters that follow now also focus a bit on the non-Fellowship characters like Elrond, Bilbo, etc. and their outside perspectives of the quest and everyone going, and give us a bit more insight of where Eltariel's mind is at where before things were very Talion-centric. Also, on the Moria chapter, I cannot tell you how hard I facepalmed when I was reading back through the book and was so very loudly reminded that the Fellowship passed through Eregion on their way past the Misty Mountains. Like. I can't believe I just forgot that! And beyond that, it's been really interesting and cool to see some things cut from the original version of the fic make a reappearance: tiny scenes, some dialogue, things like that. I have about a hundred pages of cut content and ideas that went nowhere that I've been able to look back through and go, "Oh, that actually works now! That would make total sense to have!" Ideas I've had from the beginning that I just couldn't figure out how to properly implement years ago finally getting to be included? Such a great feeling.

     Only other major thing to talk about would be my approach to writing Eltariel. So, when I started this fic several years ago, I simply wanted her to be more likeable. XD Wasn't overly fond of her in-game and wanted to craft a version of her that people wanted to root for and looked forward to seeing. That has very much morphed into something so much bigger for me personally. The more I read back over what I had so far and picked things apart, the more I realized that the shape of her character arc was kind of like my own personal life from the past few years? Girl who feels like an outsider, even amongst her own people, puts pressure on herself to excel and be the best at ~something~ so that she can find self-worth. Girl doesn't quite know who she is anymore because she's equated self-identity with the expectations of others. Emotional, wears her heart on her sleeve gal tries to appear indifferent and unaffected because she was often met with ridicule and disdain when trying to be herself. Stubborn, hardheaded gal has to relearn how to ask for help and let others help her when she doesn't know how/when to. Among many other things! I had no idea this was the direction things would go when I started on v3 of this fic, but the words came so naturally when a lot of other stuff wouldn't, and it took on a life of its own. So if she seems a bit different in the next big official update, that's why! Writing her has been one of the biggest challenges of this fic, especially because her character is very much a certain way in-game and pivots a lot here. Which, you know, she goes through a lot and is carrying new trauma and struggles coming out of chapter one, so character changes are to be expected. I guess it's just a bit scary and strange for something that contains so much personal stuff on a characterization level to become a part of this huge and important thing I'm crafting. <3

     I think that's it for now? Thank you again for your patience in all this. I can't wait for you all to see the finished product and how it all comes together. Much love and tty in a little while! <3

~Angel

[6/29/24]

     Hello, all! I hope you're doing well. Dropping in to let you know what I've been working on these last few months.

     I'm just about through with the Fellowship of the Ring arc. It became a lot longer than I originally intended, but I think what I added addresses a lot of the things I've been looking to improve on and adds to the world I'm trying to build with all the conflicting and overlapping lore between books, games, and movies. We see more glimpses of Cel and Talion during their time in Mordor and how they grew closer despite the cold, vengeful, Ring obsessed-ness, and get some more insight into how their connection works within the New Ring (and how that might be affected by Isildur's Ring and the One Ring). We get to know Eltariel more: who she is, how being the Blade of Galadriel changed her, what she's like when she's vulnerable and afraid and unsure (which we don't get much of in the game), the way she grows as she learns to trust and rely on others instead of trying to do everything herself. She is, basically, the character I'm projecting a lot of my own stuff onto, which makes her quite easy, but quite nerve-wracking to write (see last updates big paragraph about that for more). But I'm glad I've been able to give her some more development and build her character and backstory more. Looots of book stuff pops up throughout. More than I thought there'd be, tbh. XD I've done a thing where I've melded bits of the books' scenes with bits of the extended editions' scenes in a way that I think makes sense and works well. Some expanded setting and character descriptions, footnotes (which I'm greatly enjoying adding!), and some minor changes things that stem from Talion and Eltariel's involvement in the quest. Also, not forgetting about Luinil and the caragors after the Fellowship leaves Rivendell. It didn't feel right to just have the caragors chilling in Rivendell for the rest of the fic, and while Luinil can't exactly just fly them to Mordor, that doesn't mean she can't keep an eye on them from above as they travel--point out any potential dangers heading towards them, terrain warnings, aerial attack support if needed: that kind of thing. Cut some scenes down or out completely that could either be summarized without unnecessarily taking up a full scene to make room for other things or easily footnoted or mentioned by the characters within dialogue or a thought stream.

     As far as where I'm at now, plot-wise, I'm in the Lothlorien section! A whole lot of changes are happening right now with all the character work I've done on Eltariel leading up to it. It altered her reunion with Haldir, her attitude on the way there from Moria, how she feels about the sacrifices she had to made to become the Blade of Galadriel and the woman in question, her outlook on the Fellowship's journey on this side of the mountains as they get closer to Mordor, how she views herself. The first Lothlorien chapter is very Eltariel-centric. The second will focus more on Talion and everyone else. The changes to "The Breaking of the Fellowship" will probably be more cleaning and polishing than anything (at least as of today). I've got some Sindarin grammar to check and some planning to do as far as the Mordor interludes (namely, trying to check in with all the regions more evenly and infusing more game lore). Once that's done, we should be onto the Two Towers arc! Which I will try not to speed run through this time. XD

     The plan (as of now) is to get back to posting chapters when the fic is officially finished. My initial goal was by the end of the year, and I'd like to think that's still in the cards. I'm cautiously optimistic about that. You never know what life's going to throw at you, but hopefully nothing too awful this fall and winter? Fingers crossed. Happy belated Juneteenth to those who celebrate, and a happy upcoming 4th of July to peeps here in the US! There's a lot of messed up stuff in and about this country, but I'm grateful for all of the good that's here as well, as hard as it can be to see and find some days. <3 Lots of love, good vibes, prayers, etc. to you and yours, and I'll tty again soon. *hugs*

~Angel

[8/27/24]

     Hallo! Dropping by really quick to leave you all an update on what I've been up to as of late. :)

     First of all, I've just about reached "The Breaking of the Fellowship"! {Only just now??? Yes, I know it's been, like, two months, haha. Doctor Who is my current hyper fixation, and it's a fandom that's become very near and dear to my heart, so I've been doing quite a bit of writing for it. I've really enjoyed it and learning about that universe, and it's a welcome break from Fine Line when I feel like I've hit a wall with things. <3} Just need to clean up the last few Lorien scenes and we'll be in the home stretch of book one territory! Leading up to that, I've written quite a bit. I went back through and re-examined some Mordor interlude stuff, things I felt weren't being addressed or included when and where they should be. So that'll be things like Shelob's alliance with our Mordor friends and the specific ways in which she's involved with the ongoing conflicts (outside of just having visions when the main plot demands it), the settlements that were mentioned by Baranor in chapter two that shows the make-up of Mordor beyond just what we see in-game, a better look at how the remnants of the men of Minas Ithil and the Vanishing Sons get along with the orc forces and how the war has affected the various groups, fleshing out the country wide tunnel system idea a bit more, etc. I've also added lots of details about Talion's struggle against Isildur's Ring: how the Witch-king uses what Talion perceives as his strengths to guilt trip and manipulate him, the ways in which his Nazgulification begins to affect his waking thoughts, the increasing hopeless feeling self-deprecation and almost acceptance of the idea that he might lose himself to the Ring before the war is over, the shift in his attitude regarding the ethics of using the darker powers of Isildur's Ring and if the ends justify the means, etc.

     And this Eltariel backstory/character arc. <3 One of the biggest reasons this pair of chapters has taken so very long to finish rewriting is because it's taken me this long to have a complete vision of who she is and what's led her to be the person we see in the game and then at the start of this fic. The biggest hurdle to essentially rewriting her in a lot of ways (and I use that term kind of loosely, just to highlight that game Eltariel and fic-Eltariel are so drastically different) was finding a way to connect with her, relate to her on some level, see something in her that would make me go, "Ah. That's why you see the world like this. That's why you think this way. I can understand." That's when some of my own personal experiences became a part of who and how she is, and combined with a little bit of inferring and adding little twists on the bits of game lore around her, the Blade/Light of Galadriel, etc. created the version of her that currently exists in this newest draft. That also means her conversation with Galadriel--that conversation--is expanded and very different this time. I wanted to explore a side of Galadriel that was contrary to her overall portrayal in the movies and books, but not so contrary as to not make sense with popular canon interpretation and this AU I've built. (I made the mistake of trying to sift through all the versions of her and Celeborn's lore I could find and quickly realized my mistake when it just kept going. Sometimes, research leads to a big info overload headache. XD) The main driving force behind how I'm writing Galadriel to be in the chapter "Hiraeth" is: in this AU, what would make her treat Eltariel the way she did in the vision scene at the start of the Blade of Galadriel DLC? That cold and distant tone, the anger at Eltariel's request of returning to Lothlorien after realizing the gravity of her never-ending assignment, the almost lack of concern(?) for her as well? I've made their relationship a lot more personal as well, mother-daughter rather than assassin-employer, so that adds extra layers and stakes to their interactions while giving Eltariel a backstory that feels more within reach. Something less fantastical/over the top and more grounded. It also lets me draw some parallels with some other character pairs as well, like Legolas and Thranduil (death of a loved one driving a wedge between parent and child that becomes quite hard to remove) and Denethor and Faramir (death/injury of a loved one spawning resentment in the parent; youngest child just wants to earn parent's approval, but most likely never will unless certain dire circumstances occur). Also, I know one of the popular theories at one time was that she's a high elf from the First Age who's been reincarnated in Glorfindel-like fashion, or one who's stuck around Middle-earth for a long time as a healer/warrior and is once again joining the fight. You won't find that interpretation here, but I think those are cool and interesting ideas to ponder. <3

     There will be much less heavy, in-depth, rambly Eltariel talk after we hit the the Two Towers arc, I promise. XD Once this Fellowship arc of her character development is the way I want it, it should be smooth sailing on her stuff from there.

     Once I do some clean up on the Breaking chapter, then we're onto Two Towers! I would like to extend this arc just a little, given how short it is (4 chapters! :') ) in comparison to the giant that is the Fellowship arc (11 chapters) and the not quite as long but still decently long planned RotK arc (7-8 chapters). At the very least, its chapters will become longer if the chapter count doesn't go up (probably with a lot of footnotes as well?). I'm excited though! I think enough smaller changes have been made in these first 10 chapters to have a noticeable effect on a few upcoming things, so I'm looking forward to seeing that unfold. What else have I done? Ah, speaking of footnotes! How I have them laid out rn, they're a mix of non-Common Tongue translations, little combined-lore snippets I'm expanding on, and brief descriptions of anecdotes regarding our characters and scenes left out of the main work that happen but aren't necessarily focused on (Ex: When Bilbo mentions knowing Eltariel from the Battle of the Five Armies, there's a little footnote about how they met and her minor involvement in events during that time as she's tracking the Nazgul westward, following the rumors of a necromancer and their allies at Dol Guldur. I think that's a neat way to weave her into the larger LotR plot, seeing as how Talion would have been in Udun at the time, newly bound to Cel). And on the subject of anecdotes and such, Talion and Ioreth! Talion still very much loves his wife in this fic. His love for Cel doesn't erase or lessen his feelings for her, and there are more mentions of her, the kind of life they had together, the kind of love they shared, etc. and how those memories not only affect Talion's journey with the Fellowship but also how he approaches things with Cel and the ways in which their love differs. Young whirlwind romance, raising a child together, choosing each other time and again despite not quite having the lifestyle they want but being happy together nonetheless, being at peace with one another. You have all that versus: bonded (literally and metaphorically) by trauma, reluctant comrades in arms turned friends turned something more, coming to love each other despite deceit and treachery and all manner of not great things, finding common ground with all of the cultural and time period differences between them, etc. The light and dark themes run strongly through them too when compared (which I will not sit here and talk your ear off about because Lord knows we will be here for ages if I do. Longer than we already have been, anyway. XD).

     All this to say, I've gotten a lot done since my last update note! Even if, timeline wise, we aren't super far ahead of where we were. Lots of love, good vibes, prayers, well wishes, etc. to you. I hope you've been well, and if things are rough in life rn, it's going to be okay and you're going to make it through. <3 Tty soon.

~Angel

[11/26/24]

     Just realized I haven't posted an update here since AUGUST. I'm so sorry. :')

     Besides having a lot of stuff going on in my personal life (family things, taking on some new roles in my church, flute performance and some composition work for income and networking, etc.), I just really needed a break from writing in general. I've been working non-stop on one project or another since the start of the year, so when mid-September rolled around, I just really had to step away from my keyboard and all of my ongoing projects for a bit. Creative burnout. Took the rest of September, all of October, and the first bit of November to just not write, and my brain is much better for it, I think. <3

     As far as what I've been up to since I've gotten back to it, it's been a lot of breaking down where we're at and where we're going as far as character motivations and the ripple effects of Talion and Eltariel's inclusion in the quest. What small moments or snippets of conversations have really stuck with some characters, and how do they affect the ways in which they view the world, other situations and people, etc.? Do they reach certain conclusions faster because of those interactions? Are some events avoided altogether? Do some events still happen but have a different conclusion and/or aftermath? How are their personalities different because of those things? Lots of scribbling in my binder and mapping out all of that.

     I guess my biggest challenge now is figuring out when doubt starts to creep into Talion's mind about Isildur's Ring and his strength of will to resist it. He's very determined and encouraging to the rest of the Fellowship, and I wonder what canonical event(s) would create the first real crack in is armor, so to speak. I'm considering Moria at the moment, but I wonder if that feels too soon, or if it would leave too long of a period of time to have to stretch the will-he-won't-he succumb to the Ring(s) dilemma? I'm finding it difficult to balance Talion gradually losing faith in himself while so many others around him are finding their courage and hope because of his words and actions. Maybe I need to come back to that later.

     I've got a list of changes and tweaks for the next two arcs in the works, some of which I'm quite excited to implement, as well as a whole host of stuff for the ending/last few chapters in the three(?) year period after the end of the War of the Ring and before some of our heroes set sail. Lots of lovely worldbuilding and me geeking out about game lore will happen. XD Some days, I have to remind myself that all the struggles I'm having are building to a happy ending for so many characters (especially our boys) because I get too caught up in how things just aren't flowing together how they need to. But they will eventually. One word at a time.

     I'll try not to disappear for as long between updates next time, haha. An early Happy Thanksgiving to others in the US, and I hope you all are doing well. Much love and tty again soon.

~Angel

[1/30/25]

     Aaaaahhhhh it's Fine Line's sixth year anniversary today!!! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy that makes me. <3

     To the people who are still here despite my lack of new chapters being published lately and all of my rewrite rambling, thank you. Thank you so much for sticking with me while I continue working on this, especially if you're someone who's reminded me to take my time and do what I need to do. The last two-ish years of my life have been chaotic, heartbreaking, and terrifying at times, but also really full of goodness and healing. It's been a lot, and your patience, encouragement, and kindness mean the world to me. I've never been the fastest writer in any capacity, and I try to remind myself I don't have to be, especially if the quality of the work suffers as a result. So I'm still slowly chipping away at this fic, but I've got lots to tell you about!

     I have probably needed to have someone read through a lot of the stuff I've been editing and adding for at least six months. I think that's when the biggest of my roadblocks showed up, when I first reached the end of the Fellowship arc. The amazing pretzelduck, a dear friend of mine and fantastic fellow author of a different fandom we both share, was kind enough to talk through and look over a few things for me, and her feedback was extremely helpful and insightful. One of my main takeaways from our conversations was, "Has the character earned this moment?" Has enough happened in way of development (character and/or plot wise) for this moment to feel like it's happening in the right way and at the right time? The amount of pacing and tone/balance issues that simple question fixed was astounding. That's another way to say that the answer to that was "no" far more often than it was yes on things. XD And I'm glad for that as well. There's only so much you can do and see without another brain and pair of eyes to give other perspectives. That's helped with the last of my big Eltariel backstory development things, Talion's crises of faith/self-confidence, the flashbacks and dream sequences between Talion and Cel, the development of relationships in the second and third arcs between characters who started out not liking each other much (if at all), the forks in the road when it comes to diverging from canon (in big and small ways) and how and why it happens. Among other things. Many, many thank yous to her for her time, input, and constant support of this fic, even though she's never played the games and was coming into this a bit blind when I talked to her. <3

     So, beyond the few scenes I'm rearranging and cleaning up in the Fellowship arc, keeping the above paragraph in mind, I've been doing lots of work on Two Towers stuff! There are a few more scenes to accommodate changes and additions that have been made in earlier chapters, which should make it feel less like Eltariel is just there and more like her being with that chunk of the Fellowship has a purpose. Talion and Boromir's scenes are getting revamped as well. Which brings me to my newest dilemma! So. I'm very much a book Faramir person. Movie Faramir is... Well. Not for me. :) I was not fond of the changes made to his character (though I understand why they happened for movie purposes), and without those character changes (and other Peter Jackson decisions), the whole thing about him taking Frodo and Sam to Osgiliath is both non-sensical and pointless? I can give Boromir a valid reason to head there, seeing as how the men who fought under him are trying to hold the city, but I don't really see why a more book-like Faramir would ever consider taking the hobbits or the One Ring that way. Unless he thought taking the passage out of the city and the wooded paths that followed would be a safer route than continuing to travel through Ithilien (where the Haradrim and other Sauron supporting groups were traveling through, if memory serves correctly)? And the background SoW happenings could influence things on that front as well, I suppose? Might have to sit with that for a few more days.

     RotK wise, I'm trying to figure out where some characters fall within the dynamics established in this fic. People like Imrahil, for example. How does his role in things change with Boromir alive and new factors introduced once the Battle of the Pelennor Fields is over? How does that, in turn, affect Denethor's decision making before said battle (as a Denethor who currently falls somewhere in the middle of his book and movie interpretations while I'm trying to find his voice)? I'm pretty confident of everything that happens once we get to the Battle of the Black Gate, barring the specifics of the scene where Frodo needs to destroy the One Ring. What I want to happen absolutely fits with the themes of the fic and the journey these characters have taken, I feel. Is it a bit tropey and cliche, perhaps? Yeah, absolutely. XD The scene itself didn't fully come together until recently, but it kind of feels like we were always heading in that direction. This is a journey of growth, healing, and, above all, the power of love and friendship, after all. I hope you all feel that that moment is earned when we get to it, even if it may not be the most practical or realistic of narrative choices to some.

     And, as a more general thing, I keep having to remind myself that I'm meshing the lore of several different types of media, both canon and non-canon, in the wider Tolkien-verse, that I'm allowed to tweak things where needed for the purposes of making fic events make sense, and I shouldn't beat myself up about it when that's more of a struggle in some places than others. So if you see some weird lore things going on when all the final chapter drafts finally go up, I'm trying my best to find the best compromise for things. It's really hard sometimes, and I'll happily discuss the whys and hows behind the decisions I made if you'd like. :)

     I believe that's all I have to share on my progress atm. Wherever in the world you are, I hope you're doing well and that life is treating you kindly. Much love, and I'll tty again in the next progress update. <3

~Angel