Beyond Death

Prologue

The halls of the oracles were silent as a lone soldier walked through them, his footsteps echoing as he did.

"Welcome, young soldier. It isn't often that I get visitors anymore." A soft, feminine voice murmured.

"These are hard times, milady, and they seem fated to get harder still." The soldier said, as he came and stood before the oracle. The oracle herself was a pale, delicate High elf maiden, whose long flaxen hair appeared white in the sunlight that was filtering through some overhead windows. Across her pale brow seven mithril beads hung on a circlet, and the dress she wore was the color of the mallorn trees' blossoms.

"Very true. So, Herendil, why have you sought me out?" the oracle asked, fixing the soldier with an ethereal gaze. The soldier, Herendil, stood where he was in shock. He had heard that the oracle knew all, but he never experienced anything like this!

"I need to know, milady, if the Dark Lord will be overthrown. I feel that an ill omen hangs over me and the troop I have joined. My brothers feel the same way." Herendil said, respectfully.

"So you have come to me to clarify what you are feeling?" the oracle asked.

"Yes, milady." Herendil murmured, as he kneeled before her, ready for her next words. The Elven oracle sighed and closed her eyes, slipping into a trance. As Herendil watched, the oracle began to glow, softly at first, then with the brilliance of a silmaril, forcing him to shield his eyes. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the glow was gone.

"Herendil, of the army of Gil-galad, I have asked the Valar for clarity, and this is the answer they have given. Behold, one who has touched the Ring and gone into death, shall rise again, and he shall see things no elf of this time other than he shall see." The oracle said, quietly.

"But what does it mean? What does it have to do with the coming battle?" Herendil asked, very confused by this.

"That is all I can tell you, Herendil. I am sorry I cannot tell you more." The oracle said, gently.

"Thank you for your time, milady." Herendil murmured, as he stood, bowed, then went out the way he'd come in. Little did he realize that the moment he'd turned his back to the oracle, a single tear slid down her cheek, and it glittered with the light of the emerging stars before falling to the ground.

Weeks later found Herendil on the march to Mordor. He was marching alongside his elder brother Erundur, and just behind the King Gil-galad's Herald, Elrond of Imladris.

"Erundur, why do humans have so many cheerful marching songs, while we have hymns to the Valar and Elbereth?" a youthful voice asked, from behind.

"It's because humans get depressed and discouraged very easily, Tirinvo. They need those songs to keep their spirits up." Herendil replied, much to the chagrin of Erundur.

"Oh." Tirinvo said, as the singing of the human soldiers drifted over the sounds of marching feet and clanking armor.

"You know, for humans, their singing isn't half bad. It's the bar songs I don't understand." Another elf said, getting some chuckles for that comment.

"What's to understand? When you're drunk, your emotions are released from the usual constraints." Erundur said, casually.

"You say that as though you've been drunk yourself, Erundur. Wait till mother hears about that!" Herendil said, with a laugh.

"Herendil, if the Dark Lord doesn't kill you, I will." Erundur grumbled. Elrond rolled his eyes as more playful banter passed between the brothers, but stopped when Gil-galad himself chuckled and shook his head.

"Let them be, Elrond. There's no harm to them lightening their own mood this way. They are, after all, still so very young." Gil-galad said, wisely, smirking when Herendil muttered something about 'orc-breath', to which Erundur answered with 'troll-dung'.

"Indeed. Let's just hope they both live to become wiser. Troll-dung, honestly!" Elrond muttered, shaking his head as Gil-galad let out a laugh, and the three bickering elves behind them quieted, blushing since they had been heard by their superiors.

Less than two days later, they were on the battlefield. Despite his attempts to appear cool and calm, Herendil's heart was racing. This was it; this would be the final battle. He'd survived until this point, and knew that with the end of this battle, he would be going home. He could hear the horrible screams of the orcs, and remembered what his parents had told him and his brothers, all those years ago; they were elves once.

"I don't want to end up like them! Please, Valar high above, don't let that fate befall me! Nor my brothers, for that matter!" Herendil thought, as he readied his bow.

"Tangado haid leitho I philion! (Hold your positions! Fire the arrows!)" Elrond shouted, as thousands upon thousands of orcs charged at them, with bloodlust in their eyes. With the twanging of over a thousand bows, the arrows left their homes, and imbedded themselves in their targets. But still the mass came. Again and again the Elven archers fired into the mass, and the mass advanced, unchecked. When the orcs were too close for arrows to be very effective, the elves reached for their staves and, in one fluid movement, whipped them out. Herendil panted as he fought off the orcs that were coming at him. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see men and elves struggling side by side. Hours went by like minutes, and there seemed no end to the orcs that were pouring out of Mordor. Then the battlefield went silent, and a dark shape appeared before the armies of elves and men. To the horror of all around, it was the Dark Lord himself! His gigantic frame was clothed in black armor, and he reeked of blood, death, and indescribable evil. In his hands, he carried an immense mace, that was engraved with spells that would destroy Elves on contact. For a moment, Herendil was frozen, then he noticed that Elrond was in the line of fire, and he did something no other elf would even think of doing; he charged straight at the Dark Lord! He didn't hear the startled cries of the elves or men, nor did he notice the Dark Lord's momentary faltering step backwards; just what was this crazy elf doing?! With a scream, Herendil leaped up and tried to grab onto the swinging arm for the mace, grimacing when his right hand met the white-hot metal of the ring the Dark Lord wore on his massive finger. Before the smell of burned flesh and the pain of the burn could reach him, Herendil was treated to a different kind of pain; the pain of having the end of the mace shoved into his chest. He gagged when he felt his breastbone shatter from the impact, and fell with a crash into some men. Faintly, Herendil could hear the sounds of elves and men being bashed aside with the mace, then he heard the sound of Elrond's voice, commanding the remaining elves to renew the attack. As his vision faded, Herendil took in the sights around him; the men who were kneeling beside him, helplessly trying to make him as comfortable as possible in his final moments. He also saw that there were some men gathered into a circle around him, trying to protect this brave and foolish elf who had tried to fend off the Dark Lord all by himself. With a painful effort, Herendil looked up into the eyes of the men who were tearfully tending to him and smiled.

"Tell Lord Elrond…………………and King Gil-galad…………………that I tried…………..Thank you, my friends………….." Herendil whispered, as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he closed his eyes. He didn't hear the final mournful cry of the man who held him, nor did he hear the final roar of the Dark Lord, as his ring was sundered from his body. As Herendil's body went limp, his burned hand fell from his chest to his side, revealing part of the inscription of the ring; One Ring to bring them all.