I'm not going to spend an awful amount of effort trying to decipher the scientific or even slightly realistic perspective of this. That means I do not take such things as immune systems, the science of time and space travel etc into consideration. I hope you can all read it as it is intended, in good fun. Please enjoy and as always, please share your thoughts and if you do, know that I am deeply appreciative of you taking the time. Also, I do take the liberty to butcher some elvish here, some at will, some because I simply don't know any better. Be forgiving. I use old English in place of Rohirric in a few places too. ~ MRSCVDL
Chapter 1
Enemies flooded through the gates of Mordor. Victory of men slipped further and further away from their grasp by each passing moment. The shadow spread like a black wildfire across the landscape, threatening to spread to the edge of the world, engulfing everything in its path. The army of the west was the only thing standing between the shadow and the utter defeat and destruction of men. So they fought, like those with nothing left to lose.
Éomer, king of Rohan eyed the orc at his feet. The nasty creature still twitched and wreathed in a futile attempt to defy death. The king of the north drove his sword into its throat in an act of undeserved mercy. He found himself atop a slight hill some ways from the center of the battle. The hillside lay scattered with corpses and carcasses, only he still stood. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. As he looked down at the field below he was overcome by fear and doubt. The army he fought for seemed pitiful in the midst of all the darkness. His eyes traveled southward, through the black gates in hopes of finding a sign of relief. His thoughts went to the two halflings somewhere in the heart of evil. All his hope now lay with them.
There was a great rumble and Éomer felt the ground move like a wave under his feet. Soon came another. The eyes of men and foe alike searched the reason why the earth sighed in such a manner. Perhaps the creatures of Mordor sensed something men did not because before long most of them scattered. They ran like rats abandoning a sinking ship. There was a loud boom and a pillar of smoke and fire rose from inside the gates. The earth trembled with fear and with anger. Éomer lost his balance where he stood. He slid down the hillside, clawing at the bodies he tumbled over, attempting to slow his fall. It was not a steep hillside but nevertheless he felt no urge to hit the ground below at great speed. Another deafening boom came, followed by the thunderous noise of stone shattering. Éomer did not know it then, but what he heard, was the black gates collapsing.
Like a mouth of a great beast the ground beneath him opened with a roar. His fingers desperately fought to grab hold of something but failed him. He kept plunging toward the great gap in the ground and as he slid over the edge his flailing arms caught hold of nothing and he fell.
The strangest notion came over him as he fell. Time seemed to slow down and silence filled his ears. He prepared himself for meeting death. It would be swift and definite once he hit the bottom of the clove. The gap above him, where he could make out the sky turned into sliver as he fell. Soon the sliver was beyond sight and there was only darkness and yet he fell.
A peace came over him and he closed his eyes. His mind filled with pictures of home, of happier times. He smelled the dewy grass of spring in Rohan. He thought not of houses, of rank or of worldly things. Instead he felt as one would during the first swim in the lake in summer, or when the warmth of a fire first prickles ones freezing skin, or receiving a mother's comfort as a hurting child. Soon he thought no more, he sensed no more, he perceived nothing no more, but yet he was falling.
