A/N: This is a short one. After finishing Shadow of War(by which I mean completing Act III & going to YouTube for the Act IV ending), I felt rather... dissatisfied by the conclusion to Talion's story. It just felt... wrong. So I started thinking of how I wish it had ended. One thing led to another and a few hours of thinking later I present to you the ending I wish had been.
"What has changed?" Talion spoke aloud as he looked over Minas Morgul from his tower. "Thirty years have I stood against Mordor, capturing, conquering and killing. And what has changed? Still, Minas Ithil lies an empty husk. None but shadows and Orcs do live here."
He looked out to the Horizon. "Sauron's forces creep ever closer. Thirty years, and I have merely delayed the inevitable."
He looked down to the ring on his hand; the ring that once wrapped 'round the finger of a hero turned to darkness. It's jewel glowed orange; a burning flame against the grey skin of the Ranger's hand. "With every day that passes, more of my soul is taken from by this accursed relic. After thirty years, I don't know how much fight I have left within me."
"Resisting the Dark Lord is futile." the Nazgul behind him finally spoke up. It was the Witch-King of Angmar. Feeling Talion's will crumble beneath the power of Sauron, the wraith was drawn here to welcome his new brother of the ring.
"His reach is without end," the Ringwraith continued. "His power is unrivaled. His armies are infinite. But above all, the Dark Lord is patient. His victory is but a matter of time. All you could ever do is delay his domination and rule."
Talion caught himself listening more intently than he would have preferred. He brushed off the Witch-King's words, and a wave of fatigue overcame him. He staggered and braced himself against the railing to his tower balcony.
He looked down to his ring and saw it glow more intensely. He felt a surge of renewed energy flow through him. He looked over his city again, cloer this time. His eyes honed in on his army; every claimed soul, dominated and resurrected alike.
He saw power. He saw dominion and control.
The Witch-King recognized this. The power was too alluring. Talion belonged to Sauron.
"It is over," the Nazgul said. He walked up behind the Ranger and placed a welcoming hand on his shoulder.
Talion looked back to his newfound brother. His face was pale and wore a devilish smile. His eyes seeped darkness, yet his irises burned like the sun.
Had the Witch-King been capable of such an expression, he would have smiled. "Together, we will turn towards Middle-Earth."
On winds and waters may you cross,
Talion paused. His smile faded. He turned back away from the Ringwraith.
See mountains white and blue.
A tune echoed through his mind. A memory from a time long past.
But on your road, let's not forget
He recognized the song; the voice.
The love I have for you.
"Ioreth," he whispered.
It was the song she sang on the day she…
Talion's hand ventured to his cloak; the one she gave him. His fingers touched it and felt a foreign fabric upon his shoulder. He felt a moment of panic before he remembered the dressings of the Nazgul that adorned his body.
His fingers drifted further upwards 'til they brushed the hilt of Acharn, the broken blade that once belonged to-
"Dirhael…"
The Witch-King noticed Talion's conflict. He was trying to resist. The last shreds of his humanity were putting up one last fight. They would not be enough. The Witch-King knew this. Sauron was too powerful. His control would snuff out these rebellious remnants. His words to the Ranger were true: it was but a matter of time.
Talion was quiet a long while before turning back to the Nazgul. Immediately, something was wrong. The Witch-King's confidence faltered.
The fire faded from the Ranger's eyes. Color filled his face and the darkness in his veins subsided.
The Witch-King looked to his hand, clenched in a fist. Talion opened his fingers, and Isildur's ring tumbled out. It fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor. It bounced and rolled until in reached the tower's edge, and tumbled down to the dark city below.
Talion took the first clean breath he had in decades. In this moment, he felt stronger than Sauron or Celebrimbor had ever made him feel. He stood tall against the Witch-King. He had won.
And then he staggered. He faltered and fell. His palm was pierced and his neck opened up. Blood poured from both. He felt his life fading.
But he felt no fear. All he felt was relief.
The Witch-King stood by and watched this. But it was not shock that froze him in place. It was disappointment. As the Ranger lay bleeding out, he hissed, "It doesn't matter. Nothing has changed." He turned and entered the tower's keep, reclaiming Minas Morgul for himself.
Talion laid on the balcony dying. He swore he could see his family stood above him. His son, his pride: Dirhael. And his wife, his love: Ioreth.
"I have done my part, Middle-Earth. From here on out, the fight is yours."
Talion reached out to his family and breathed his last.
A/N: That feels more fitting to me. I knew Talion's story wasn't going to end happily ever after and I personally like the idea of decades of stalemated battle and the fight for his soul. But joining the Nazgul? That felt wrong. I'm not sure how else to describe it. Just wrong. Hopefully I'm not the only one and someone decides to click on this and finds some enjoyment out of it.