To Vanquish the Shadows
By Priscilla Stafford
Author's Note: "I would like to give special thanks to Makiko Imamura and Maria Kanai, my best friends, who are encouraging me and giving me ideas for this story. I was at first going to write a story about what if there was one more person in the Fellowship of the Ring? But someone mentioned the plot has been done to death. So this story I've changed to tell about the legends of Shannar and his descendant's. Hope you enjoy it! Also, the last part of this story I moved it over to the next chapter.
This is only the Prologue to my story so forgive me if you find it a bit dull. But this chapter is VERY important since it will lead up to the events of my story. I have tried to keep as much as I can to J.R.R. Tolkien's books. If there are ANY mistakes, please tell. All right here it goes!"
And on an extra note, the only real reason I'm rating this fanfiction PG-13 is because of some slight action/adventure violence, but nothing too bad. No bad language, strong violence, or other problems in my story.
Prologue: "Shannar"
If anyone in the battle field were to look at one of the small ridges a short ways away, they would have spied a group of four on horseback. If that certain someone was an Elf, he would have seen that these men were all warriors, lean in frame yet their posture and stance was obviously of one accustomed to fight. Clothed in black and wearing no armor, the only contrast of color was a cape of forest green.
The leader of the group, Shannar surveyed the scene before him. It was all too obvious that Sauron's forces would triumph. He had to admit that he was surprised how long the army of men and elves were holding out. If only. no. There was no use thinking that way. There was no hope for Middle Earth, there was no hope for him.
Once again the heaviness in his heart felt so strong he almost couldn't breathe. 'No hope'. The words kept going over and over into his head. If only things had been different. If only he hadn't been so naïve. If only. if only. There was no use wishing for the past to miraculously change. Shannan was a warrior, he would face whatever the future had in store for him, no matter how bleak the future at the moment looked.
Shannar glanced behind him. His companions were still with him. He knew that inside each and every one of them, the same cold tendrils of despair were seeping deep into their souls.
It was only through sheer will power that Shannar returned his eyes to the battle scene of horror before him. But in the brief time it took to ensure his friends were still present, the tide of the war had changed. Here and there, bands of warrior men and elves were breaking through the masses of orcs. Hope unbidden sprouted in Shannar.
But in moments the seed was crushed. The air stilled as the light winds that had been blowing all day stopped. Time seemed to be frozen. Even before Shannar could actually see for a fact, he knew. Sauron had arrived. And on his finger, was the Ring. Shannar felt the power of the Ring radiate towards him, a power so dark that it almost took his breath away. He had figured that after all this time he would be used to the power of the Ring, but it was never to be.
With mighty force, Sauron had elves and men flying left and right as he swung his staff. Shannar slumped a bit in his saddle as the grim events took place. Sauron was just too powerful. There was nothing that could stop him. He was a fool to think otherwise.
Sauron struck King Elendil and the man fell back, his head hitting the rocks beneath his feet. Shannan knew in an instant that he was dead. Someone ran towards the body, cradling the king's head. Shannar squinted his eyes a bit to make out the face and realized it was Isildur, the dead king's son.
Sauron approached the man and the dead body. Isildur tried to raise his father's sword but the Dark Lord with little difficulty brought his foot upon it, shattering the sword. The sword Narsil was naught but a broken blade now. Sauron reached down to grab the fallen man.
But Isildur was not one to give up. With a broad sweep of his broken sword, he defended himself. The end of the sword missed the dark being completely, but whether by luck or skill, Isildur cut the fingers off the outstretched hand. And with the fingers, the Ring separated from its Master.
The scene had barely registered into Shannar's brain when agony ripped through his whole being. The Ring and its Master's cry of anger swept through his mind in a torrent, like a wave crashing against cliff. The pain was too great for Shannar; he fell from his horse with his head in his hands. Shannan was sure he was dying and calmed a bit. In his heart he accepted his fate and waited for the end.
Suddenly, the pain stopped. Shannan almost didn't believe the fact and stayed still on the ground. Only then did he realize he had been squeezing his eyes shut. He was still alive! Slowly opening his shut eyes, he saw his friends also on the ground.
Forgetting the dull throbbing that remained in his head, Shannar crawled towards Gwenor. The youngest of the group, Gwenor was unconscious and after a quick inspection found that he had hit his head when he fell off his horse. Nothing serious but he would have a nasty headache when he woke up. The leader looked around to the other two members who were by now starting to sit up on their own. Besides looking paler than usual, Dane seemed to be all right and the same could be said for Mithlen. Shannar felt tears of relief threatening to fill his eyes. If something had happened to them, he would never have forgiven himself.
Shannar brought his hand up to push his dark hair away from his face, only to find that his hands were trembling. Now was not a time for such weakness. Shannar pushed himself up onto his feet but almost lost his balance when he knees buckled. The warrior forced himself to remain standing. He looked to where Sauron had last stood. What remained were the armor and the helmet which Sauron had been wearing. But where was the Ring? Shannar was determined to find it and have it destroyed. And he knew that there was only one way to destroy it.
"Dane, stay here and take care of Gwenor. Mithlen, follow me."
Dane, always the outspoken one, said. "And where are you going?"
"To once and for all rid us of our captor." Without waiting for a reply, Shannar strode over to his horse who had not gone far, leaped into the saddle, and began galloping towards where the Ring had been. Confident that Mithlen was right behind him, the dark-haired warrior didn't turn back, intent on his purpose.
When he arrived at his destination, he saw that Isildur had taken the Ring into the palm of his hand. Next to him stood a dark-haired Elf. Elrond was his name, and the Lord of Rivendell and everything about him made it impossible to think otherwise. Though dirty from battle with his armor stained with the blood of orcs, he face held the look of royal dignity.
Shannar skidded to a halt in front of the two of royal blood. "Destroy the Ring! Only then will the darkness ever be vanquished!"
Elrond looked at him strangely. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Shannar shook his head. "That is not important. What's important is to destroy the Ring."
The Elf did not look pleased but conceded to the fact that the strange man was right. The Elf Lord looked at Isildur. "Follow me. We must cast it into the fires of Mount Doom."
Isildur for a moment did not move, then stared down intently at the Ring. Shannar paled, could the Ring have recovered so quickly after being cutting away from his master? Could it even be now corrupting the heart of the man before him?
A lifetime seemed to pass until Isildur finally got up and followed the Elf. Shannar sighed relief. He must have been only imagining Isildur's hesitation.
Shannar faced Mithlin. The warrior seemed to sense his leader's turmoil and spoke. "I will see make sure Gwenor is all right."
Shannar once again thanked Valar for such companion as Mithlin. "Thank you Mithlin. You know Gwenor. If he had been awake, by now he would have come to join us. Maybe the head injury was worse than he had originally thought. I'm not sure if he'll forgive me for leaving him behind."
The other man chuckled then left. While Mithlin rode back to the others, Shannar got off his horse and went off to follow Isildur and Elrond. He had not realized how quickly they had gone and rushed to gain on them. He followed the paths which would lead him deep into center of Mount Doom.
Before long, he was standing before the path which led to the dark door of Sammath Naur. But more out of habit than anything else, he chose the shortest path to another ledge overlooking the fires of Orodruin. No one but Sauron was allowed to enter Sammath Naur. In minutes he had reached the ledge and was surprised to find that neither the Elf nor man was there. It was then he realized that they must have taken the other path. He looked upwards to the opening leading from the door of Sammath Naur. Curiously, only Elrond was there, his back stiff with his hands clenched.
Shannar looked around to see if there was a way up without him having to backtrack all the way to the forked passage. Fortunately, there was a small path against the sides of the mountain and with careful steps he climbed. But as he climbed, he kept thinking why he had not felt anything when the Ring was destroyed. He still could remember the terrible agony he was in when the Ring had been cut from Sauron's finger, why hadn't he felt something now?
When he was finally able to stand in front of Elrond, he asked, "Where's Isildur?"
Shannar was almost afraid the Elf wouldn't answer for his face was so hard it was as if it was etched from stone. Then suddenly the Lord of Rivendell spoke, "Isildur has left."
"The he destroyed the Ring?"
A moment of silence. "No."
Shannar felt the world crash down on him. He fell to his knees with his head bowed, his mind still in a daze. It couldn't be. he had been so close. All he wanted to do right now was rush down to the foot of the hill, take the Ring from Isildur, and vanquish the terrible object which was the reason for his bondage. But it was too late, by now Isildur was with his men. And even with all of his powers, he wouldn't get beyond the first few soldiers. He knew how dedicated the men were to both Isildur and his late father. Shannar felt himself whisper, almost absently, "I will never be free."
Elrond was looking at him strangely, a questioning look in his face. The questioning look then turned to a one of certainty. "You are of the Tainted Four, are you not?"
Shannar jerked his head up. "How did you know? Not many have heard of us."
"I have heard how Sauron had taken four craftsmen of renowned skill before the creation of the Ring. And though Sauron himself forged the Ring, you four were present." Here the Elf paused then continued. "They say that during the forging, the darkness emanating from Sauron had tainted you and a dark power had befallen on you."
Shannar gave a harsh laugh and said bitterly, "Not power, oh not, never power." His gaze softened. "A curse." Elrond's silence cued him to carry on. "I will never forget the day the army of orcs came into my village. To think that they were ordered to leave nothing alive but to capture me and bring me to their Lord. Everyone was killed, nobody left alive."
The kneeling warrior heaved a huge sigh. "I was taken to Sauron. Myself and three others were ordered to make the tools he would need to forge the One Ring." Shannar smiled. "We had no choice but to obey. Beautiful works of art they were, too, only to be used to make such a terrible weapon for such an evil Lord. It's strange, he had Noldor smiths, including Celebrimbor, to help forge the other Rings, but had us four, common craftsman, help create the One Ring." Next he shuddered. "It was awful to see him forge the master Ring, it was like he was pouring himself into it. His cruelty, his malice, and his darkness. It was terrible. After that my companions and I were never the same. It was like our very souls were tainted. And the curse."
Shannar remembered when he had been first presented a sword. He remembered the weight of it when pressed into his hand. From that moment on, he was no longer Shannar the simple craftsman. He was Shannar, spy and warrior for the Dark Lord. He had never fought in his life but from within him came a strange power, reflexes and instincts he would never have imagined himself capable of. With the darkness eating up inside of him, he was no more than a killing monster. He would never be able to forgive himself for what he had done while serving Sauron. But Sauron's will was embedded in him; all he could do was obey. Shannar looked at his hands, hands which used to be unblemished with fingers slender and strong, the skilled fingers of a man good at his craft. Now, calloused and scarred, they were the hands of a warrior whose sword had claimed many lives.
The man was startled out of his reverie when the Elf Lord spoke. "Another name you have is 'i yulmë queni', or 'the Branded Ones'."
Shannar took off his wrist guards around each of his wrists were letterings burned into the skin. The warrior did not have to read the words to know what they said. Around the left, 'Ash nazg durbatulúk, ash nazg gimbatul,' and around the right, 'Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.' The words were too terrible to say in the Black Tongue but Shannar spoke the words in the common tongue.
"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."
Shannar immediately after speaking put his wrist guards back on, got to his feet then turned to leave. The Elf stopped him, grabbing his arm. "Where will you go?"
"The Ring will try to call to me, to use me for its own evil purpose and," this he vehemently spit out, "I will not let it. I will get as far away as I can, there is nothing that ties me here. And surely people will not accept me for what I was." He absent mindedly grabbed around one of his wrists. "No, they will not. I shall leave this place"
"But where."
"To the Northern Wastes."
"Then I wish you luck. I know it will not do any more good to try to reason with Isildur, but I will keep my eye on the Ring." Elrond went ahead and left Shannar to himself.
Shannar watched him leave until he was out of site. The warrior was finally left to himself to think out his thoughts. Yes, it would be best if he left. He wouldn't force the others to come also, but he knew that their loyalty to him would keep them all together. He searched his mind and soul and felt that much of the darkness had fled him since Sauron's demise. But still, in the furthermost corner of his heart, his till felt tainted. He was sure that the fact will never change while the Ring was not yet destroyed.
But since that morning, Shannar felt a change in him. He was still the same person, but something. after some thought he realized what it was and gave a half smile. There was a hope for his future, it was small but still hope. Though he was yet not free of the Ring, he was no longer a captive of Sauron.
**********
Shannar, Mithlin, Dane, and Gwenor left Mordor and headed north to the Northern Wastes. Along the way, they met with a group of villagers whose village had been burned. Though Sauron was destroyed, his scattered army of orcs continued to pillage and loot the town of villages of Middle Earth.
Full of compassion, Shannar and his group offered the villagers to come with them to the north for they had no where else to go. The villagers readily agreed for a chance to join up with the warriors who also promised for protection.
And so the continued in the journey. Every step which took them farther and farther away from the land of darkness, the lighter the Tainted Four's hearts began to be. But soon, it was too hard to keep the secret of the four's true identity. When a group of orcs ambushed them, Shannar and his men fought and destroyed them with their powerful skill. At first, the villagers were frightened of the warriors, but by then they had already begun to love and trust them. Whatever their past, the people decided to follow them.
At last they reached the mountains of Angmar and a bit further out to the West in the valley of a small mountain range they settled. They built a town and soon they prospered, though small and scarce their crops were at first. But steadily, the town grew.
Shannar was made a Lord and leader of the village and the people loved him. Mithlin, Dane, and Gwenor were made Captains and soon each married and had their own family. But though Shannar seemed happy, he was restless and would often wander the mountains in solitary. The people whispered among themselves that the Ring was trying to call him back. But all changed when Shannar fell in love the lovely maiden Enya, and for years to come, everyone would say there was never a happier and more lovely couple than they.
But to the horror of Shannar and his Captains, their children were born with the mark around their wrists. Though not branded, the words were gold in color and the letterings were so fine they were barely distinguishable. Shannar realized that the curse will live on through their bloodlines. Along with the brand, their offspring were given to some extent the same warrior skills as their fathers, speed and instincts no mortal would be expected to have.
For the longest time, Shannar forbade teaching the arts of fighting to his children. For years he fought with the idea, never wanting his children to feel the darkness he had felt and still felt inside of him.
Author's Note: "So, what do you think? I hope you've liked it so far! Please review and give me your opinions. I will accept criticism and suggestions but please don't be too mean about them! Thank you!
Author's Note: "I would like to give special thanks to Makiko Imamura and Maria Kanai, my best friends, who are encouraging me and giving me ideas for this story. I was at first going to write a story about what if there was one more person in the Fellowship of the Ring? But someone mentioned the plot has been done to death. So this story I've changed to tell about the legends of Shannar and his descendant's. Hope you enjoy it! Also, the last part of this story I moved it over to the next chapter.
This is only the Prologue to my story so forgive me if you find it a bit dull. But this chapter is VERY important since it will lead up to the events of my story. I have tried to keep as much as I can to J.R.R. Tolkien's books. If there are ANY mistakes, please tell. All right here it goes!"
And on an extra note, the only real reason I'm rating this fanfiction PG-13 is because of some slight action/adventure violence, but nothing too bad. No bad language, strong violence, or other problems in my story.
Prologue: "Shannar"
If anyone in the battle field were to look at one of the small ridges a short ways away, they would have spied a group of four on horseback. If that certain someone was an Elf, he would have seen that these men were all warriors, lean in frame yet their posture and stance was obviously of one accustomed to fight. Clothed in black and wearing no armor, the only contrast of color was a cape of forest green.
The leader of the group, Shannar surveyed the scene before him. It was all too obvious that Sauron's forces would triumph. He had to admit that he was surprised how long the army of men and elves were holding out. If only. no. There was no use thinking that way. There was no hope for Middle Earth, there was no hope for him.
Once again the heaviness in his heart felt so strong he almost couldn't breathe. 'No hope'. The words kept going over and over into his head. If only things had been different. If only he hadn't been so naïve. If only. if only. There was no use wishing for the past to miraculously change. Shannan was a warrior, he would face whatever the future had in store for him, no matter how bleak the future at the moment looked.
Shannar glanced behind him. His companions were still with him. He knew that inside each and every one of them, the same cold tendrils of despair were seeping deep into their souls.
It was only through sheer will power that Shannar returned his eyes to the battle scene of horror before him. But in the brief time it took to ensure his friends were still present, the tide of the war had changed. Here and there, bands of warrior men and elves were breaking through the masses of orcs. Hope unbidden sprouted in Shannar.
But in moments the seed was crushed. The air stilled as the light winds that had been blowing all day stopped. Time seemed to be frozen. Even before Shannar could actually see for a fact, he knew. Sauron had arrived. And on his finger, was the Ring. Shannar felt the power of the Ring radiate towards him, a power so dark that it almost took his breath away. He had figured that after all this time he would be used to the power of the Ring, but it was never to be.
With mighty force, Sauron had elves and men flying left and right as he swung his staff. Shannar slumped a bit in his saddle as the grim events took place. Sauron was just too powerful. There was nothing that could stop him. He was a fool to think otherwise.
Sauron struck King Elendil and the man fell back, his head hitting the rocks beneath his feet. Shannan knew in an instant that he was dead. Someone ran towards the body, cradling the king's head. Shannar squinted his eyes a bit to make out the face and realized it was Isildur, the dead king's son.
Sauron approached the man and the dead body. Isildur tried to raise his father's sword but the Dark Lord with little difficulty brought his foot upon it, shattering the sword. The sword Narsil was naught but a broken blade now. Sauron reached down to grab the fallen man.
But Isildur was not one to give up. With a broad sweep of his broken sword, he defended himself. The end of the sword missed the dark being completely, but whether by luck or skill, Isildur cut the fingers off the outstretched hand. And with the fingers, the Ring separated from its Master.
The scene had barely registered into Shannar's brain when agony ripped through his whole being. The Ring and its Master's cry of anger swept through his mind in a torrent, like a wave crashing against cliff. The pain was too great for Shannar; he fell from his horse with his head in his hands. Shannan was sure he was dying and calmed a bit. In his heart he accepted his fate and waited for the end.
Suddenly, the pain stopped. Shannan almost didn't believe the fact and stayed still on the ground. Only then did he realize he had been squeezing his eyes shut. He was still alive! Slowly opening his shut eyes, he saw his friends also on the ground.
Forgetting the dull throbbing that remained in his head, Shannar crawled towards Gwenor. The youngest of the group, Gwenor was unconscious and after a quick inspection found that he had hit his head when he fell off his horse. Nothing serious but he would have a nasty headache when he woke up. The leader looked around to the other two members who were by now starting to sit up on their own. Besides looking paler than usual, Dane seemed to be all right and the same could be said for Mithlen. Shannar felt tears of relief threatening to fill his eyes. If something had happened to them, he would never have forgiven himself.
Shannar brought his hand up to push his dark hair away from his face, only to find that his hands were trembling. Now was not a time for such weakness. Shannar pushed himself up onto his feet but almost lost his balance when he knees buckled. The warrior forced himself to remain standing. He looked to where Sauron had last stood. What remained were the armor and the helmet which Sauron had been wearing. But where was the Ring? Shannar was determined to find it and have it destroyed. And he knew that there was only one way to destroy it.
"Dane, stay here and take care of Gwenor. Mithlen, follow me."
Dane, always the outspoken one, said. "And where are you going?"
"To once and for all rid us of our captor." Without waiting for a reply, Shannar strode over to his horse who had not gone far, leaped into the saddle, and began galloping towards where the Ring had been. Confident that Mithlen was right behind him, the dark-haired warrior didn't turn back, intent on his purpose.
When he arrived at his destination, he saw that Isildur had taken the Ring into the palm of his hand. Next to him stood a dark-haired Elf. Elrond was his name, and the Lord of Rivendell and everything about him made it impossible to think otherwise. Though dirty from battle with his armor stained with the blood of orcs, he face held the look of royal dignity.
Shannar skidded to a halt in front of the two of royal blood. "Destroy the Ring! Only then will the darkness ever be vanquished!"
Elrond looked at him strangely. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Shannar shook his head. "That is not important. What's important is to destroy the Ring."
The Elf did not look pleased but conceded to the fact that the strange man was right. The Elf Lord looked at Isildur. "Follow me. We must cast it into the fires of Mount Doom."
Isildur for a moment did not move, then stared down intently at the Ring. Shannar paled, could the Ring have recovered so quickly after being cutting away from his master? Could it even be now corrupting the heart of the man before him?
A lifetime seemed to pass until Isildur finally got up and followed the Elf. Shannar sighed relief. He must have been only imagining Isildur's hesitation.
Shannar faced Mithlin. The warrior seemed to sense his leader's turmoil and spoke. "I will see make sure Gwenor is all right."
Shannar once again thanked Valar for such companion as Mithlin. "Thank you Mithlin. You know Gwenor. If he had been awake, by now he would have come to join us. Maybe the head injury was worse than he had originally thought. I'm not sure if he'll forgive me for leaving him behind."
The other man chuckled then left. While Mithlin rode back to the others, Shannar got off his horse and went off to follow Isildur and Elrond. He had not realized how quickly they had gone and rushed to gain on them. He followed the paths which would lead him deep into center of Mount Doom.
Before long, he was standing before the path which led to the dark door of Sammath Naur. But more out of habit than anything else, he chose the shortest path to another ledge overlooking the fires of Orodruin. No one but Sauron was allowed to enter Sammath Naur. In minutes he had reached the ledge and was surprised to find that neither the Elf nor man was there. It was then he realized that they must have taken the other path. He looked upwards to the opening leading from the door of Sammath Naur. Curiously, only Elrond was there, his back stiff with his hands clenched.
Shannar looked around to see if there was a way up without him having to backtrack all the way to the forked passage. Fortunately, there was a small path against the sides of the mountain and with careful steps he climbed. But as he climbed, he kept thinking why he had not felt anything when the Ring was destroyed. He still could remember the terrible agony he was in when the Ring had been cut from Sauron's finger, why hadn't he felt something now?
When he was finally able to stand in front of Elrond, he asked, "Where's Isildur?"
Shannar was almost afraid the Elf wouldn't answer for his face was so hard it was as if it was etched from stone. Then suddenly the Lord of Rivendell spoke, "Isildur has left."
"The he destroyed the Ring?"
A moment of silence. "No."
Shannar felt the world crash down on him. He fell to his knees with his head bowed, his mind still in a daze. It couldn't be. he had been so close. All he wanted to do right now was rush down to the foot of the hill, take the Ring from Isildur, and vanquish the terrible object which was the reason for his bondage. But it was too late, by now Isildur was with his men. And even with all of his powers, he wouldn't get beyond the first few soldiers. He knew how dedicated the men were to both Isildur and his late father. Shannar felt himself whisper, almost absently, "I will never be free."
Elrond was looking at him strangely, a questioning look in his face. The questioning look then turned to a one of certainty. "You are of the Tainted Four, are you not?"
Shannar jerked his head up. "How did you know? Not many have heard of us."
"I have heard how Sauron had taken four craftsmen of renowned skill before the creation of the Ring. And though Sauron himself forged the Ring, you four were present." Here the Elf paused then continued. "They say that during the forging, the darkness emanating from Sauron had tainted you and a dark power had befallen on you."
Shannar gave a harsh laugh and said bitterly, "Not power, oh not, never power." His gaze softened. "A curse." Elrond's silence cued him to carry on. "I will never forget the day the army of orcs came into my village. To think that they were ordered to leave nothing alive but to capture me and bring me to their Lord. Everyone was killed, nobody left alive."
The kneeling warrior heaved a huge sigh. "I was taken to Sauron. Myself and three others were ordered to make the tools he would need to forge the One Ring." Shannar smiled. "We had no choice but to obey. Beautiful works of art they were, too, only to be used to make such a terrible weapon for such an evil Lord. It's strange, he had Noldor smiths, including Celebrimbor, to help forge the other Rings, but had us four, common craftsman, help create the One Ring." Next he shuddered. "It was awful to see him forge the master Ring, it was like he was pouring himself into it. His cruelty, his malice, and his darkness. It was terrible. After that my companions and I were never the same. It was like our very souls were tainted. And the curse."
Shannar remembered when he had been first presented a sword. He remembered the weight of it when pressed into his hand. From that moment on, he was no longer Shannar the simple craftsman. He was Shannar, spy and warrior for the Dark Lord. He had never fought in his life but from within him came a strange power, reflexes and instincts he would never have imagined himself capable of. With the darkness eating up inside of him, he was no more than a killing monster. He would never be able to forgive himself for what he had done while serving Sauron. But Sauron's will was embedded in him; all he could do was obey. Shannar looked at his hands, hands which used to be unblemished with fingers slender and strong, the skilled fingers of a man good at his craft. Now, calloused and scarred, they were the hands of a warrior whose sword had claimed many lives.
The man was startled out of his reverie when the Elf Lord spoke. "Another name you have is 'i yulmë queni', or 'the Branded Ones'."
Shannar took off his wrist guards around each of his wrists were letterings burned into the skin. The warrior did not have to read the words to know what they said. Around the left, 'Ash nazg durbatulúk, ash nazg gimbatul,' and around the right, 'Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.' The words were too terrible to say in the Black Tongue but Shannar spoke the words in the common tongue.
"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."
Shannar immediately after speaking put his wrist guards back on, got to his feet then turned to leave. The Elf stopped him, grabbing his arm. "Where will you go?"
"The Ring will try to call to me, to use me for its own evil purpose and," this he vehemently spit out, "I will not let it. I will get as far away as I can, there is nothing that ties me here. And surely people will not accept me for what I was." He absent mindedly grabbed around one of his wrists. "No, they will not. I shall leave this place"
"But where."
"To the Northern Wastes."
"Then I wish you luck. I know it will not do any more good to try to reason with Isildur, but I will keep my eye on the Ring." Elrond went ahead and left Shannar to himself.
Shannar watched him leave until he was out of site. The warrior was finally left to himself to think out his thoughts. Yes, it would be best if he left. He wouldn't force the others to come also, but he knew that their loyalty to him would keep them all together. He searched his mind and soul and felt that much of the darkness had fled him since Sauron's demise. But still, in the furthermost corner of his heart, his till felt tainted. He was sure that the fact will never change while the Ring was not yet destroyed.
But since that morning, Shannar felt a change in him. He was still the same person, but something. after some thought he realized what it was and gave a half smile. There was a hope for his future, it was small but still hope. Though he was yet not free of the Ring, he was no longer a captive of Sauron.
**********
Shannar, Mithlin, Dane, and Gwenor left Mordor and headed north to the Northern Wastes. Along the way, they met with a group of villagers whose village had been burned. Though Sauron was destroyed, his scattered army of orcs continued to pillage and loot the town of villages of Middle Earth.
Full of compassion, Shannar and his group offered the villagers to come with them to the north for they had no where else to go. The villagers readily agreed for a chance to join up with the warriors who also promised for protection.
And so the continued in the journey. Every step which took them farther and farther away from the land of darkness, the lighter the Tainted Four's hearts began to be. But soon, it was too hard to keep the secret of the four's true identity. When a group of orcs ambushed them, Shannar and his men fought and destroyed them with their powerful skill. At first, the villagers were frightened of the warriors, but by then they had already begun to love and trust them. Whatever their past, the people decided to follow them.
At last they reached the mountains of Angmar and a bit further out to the West in the valley of a small mountain range they settled. They built a town and soon they prospered, though small and scarce their crops were at first. But steadily, the town grew.
Shannar was made a Lord and leader of the village and the people loved him. Mithlin, Dane, and Gwenor were made Captains and soon each married and had their own family. But though Shannar seemed happy, he was restless and would often wander the mountains in solitary. The people whispered among themselves that the Ring was trying to call him back. But all changed when Shannar fell in love the lovely maiden Enya, and for years to come, everyone would say there was never a happier and more lovely couple than they.
But to the horror of Shannar and his Captains, their children were born with the mark around their wrists. Though not branded, the words were gold in color and the letterings were so fine they were barely distinguishable. Shannar realized that the curse will live on through their bloodlines. Along with the brand, their offspring were given to some extent the same warrior skills as their fathers, speed and instincts no mortal would be expected to have.
For the longest time, Shannar forbade teaching the arts of fighting to his children. For years he fought with the idea, never wanting his children to feel the darkness he had felt and still felt inside of him.
Author's Note: "So, what do you think? I hope you've liked it so far! Please review and give me your opinions. I will accept criticism and suggestions but please don't be too mean about them! Thank you!