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