Okay, first and foremostly, I am DEEPLY sorry for how long this has taken to post. The last Sunday that I was supposed to post we had a thunderstorm that knocked our power out, and I have the unfortunate and very bad habit of letting things slide if I don't do them EXACTLY when I'm supposed too. I'm soooooooooo sorry! I hope you will all forgive me and enjoy the story anyway.:)

Many thank to those who reviewed anonymously. I can't send you a personal reply like the ones that are signed, but I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate your reviews very very much!

One more little note here, there is a section where Aragorn speaks differently than I usually write. I wrote this way because in the books, when Aragorn comes to Gondor as the Heir of Isildur he does speak using thee and thou. Just so everyone knows why I decided to suddenly switch writing styles in the middle of the story.:) Enjoy!

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He himself overthrew the Captain of the Haven in battle upon the quays-

Return of the King-Appendix A, The Stewards

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Halith looked down contemptuosly at the fallen Gondorian. "Bind him tight," the aged pirate hissed. "Then, take him to the brig." A tight smile creased the Captain's face. He would settle his doubts once and for all. There was an easy way to prove that this was not the man he had known. Once that matter was out of the way, he had the Gondorian's precious captain. The man who had been a constant thorn in Halith's flesh since the day he heard the name: Thorongil.

The single, dark eye watched as his men swiftly bound Thorongil and dragged him off.

What if, a little voice whispered in his head, what if it is him?

Halith slowly raised one hand and stroked his scarred cheek. Then, he told himself, it would be his ultimate pleasure to watch the man die on the point of his sword. But it wasn't him. It couldn't be.

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A stench rose from the stairwell and Halith wrinkled his nose. He hated coming down here and avoided it whenever possible. The brig stank of unwashed bodies, refuse and the rats that found their way aboard. Combined with this unpleasant aroma was a stale, lingering element. Very little fresh air found it's way to this spot. It was smotheringly suffocating, making the smell worse, of course. The lantern that swung from the pirate's hand made a small pool of golden light, and the corsair was not pleased with what he saw in just that small circle.

Wooden steps creaked under Halith's boots. The elderly pirate descended slowly, his single dark eye trained on the prone form that lay within one of the tiny cells. Several pieces of the Gondorian's armour had fallen loose on the bumping trip down the stairs. The pirates had stacked them in the corner. The man had tied his hair back, but the thong had come undone, and dark locks spread into the moldy hay on which he rested.

Halith unlocked the door, wincing as the key grated in the rusty metal. With a grimace, he flung the door open and stepped into the small cubicle. A line appeared between his brows as he looked down on the Gondorian.

It couldn't be.

But the man looked so much like him…

It had to be his son.

Could even a son take on the features that burned themselve into Halith's mind? Could a son really resemble his father this closely?

There was only one way to find out.

Halith's booted foot nudged Thorongil onto his stomach. Kneeling, the elderly pirate set his lantern well to the side and reached out a hand that was no longer completely steady to take hold of the Gondorian's homespun shirt. For a few moments after his fingers closed on the rough material, he could not bring himself to move. "It's not him," he whispered to himself. "It's not." The eyebrows drew together angrily. "It's not!" With a savage jerk, he ripped the shirt upwards, laying Thorongil's back bare.

The effect of what met Halith's eyes was strangely unique. For a full minute, the corsair could only stare, his face growing more and more pale. With a shriek, the pirate fell back, barely avoiding the lantern and crab-walking as fast as he could until he slammed against the nearest wall. There he stayed for a long while, his eye riveted on the Gondorian's exposed flesh.

Thorongil shifted, making the muscles in his back twitch. Tanned skin covered the muscle, but it was marked. One of the marks was quite fresh, a ragged cut that the Captain had most likely aquired in the raid the night before. This was not what seized Halith's attention so securely. On the Gondorian's back, several long, pale scars traced themselves lengthwise, starting at his shoulders and running nearly to his waist. Someone had hurt him very cruelly, although it was obviously long ago.

Halith drew in a deep shuddering breath. He knew what had made those marks. He had been present when they were made. And he knew who this man was.

"Strider," he whispered, slowly rising from the floor. With cautious steps, Halith moved back to Thorongil's side. He stuck his foot under the man's body and flipped him over. With something close to awe, he gazed on the face that did not seem to have aged since the last time he had seen it, a quarter of a century ago.

"How?"

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Aragorn stirred fitfully. He wasn't very comfortable. Mind, sleeping in plate armour was never his brightest idea, and he assumed that he had followed through on that particular action since he could not remember taking the blasted stuff off. In fact, he didn't remember getting ready for sleep at all.

A frown creased his forehead and drew the corners of his lips down. Actually, the last thing he remembered was boarding his ship…seeing Earendil shining silver on the dark waters…

How had he come to be sleeping? What in the name of the Valar was that ungodly stench? And why, above all questions, did his head hurt so abominably?

Aragorn groaned softly and forced his eyelids to open a crack. Silver orbs surveyed the dismal scene without enthusiasm. He rested on damp, moldy hay. Lying on his side, his range of vision was limited, but he could see at least two rats investigating a pile of armour in the corner of the dank cell. His armour. There was still some attached to him, but not nearly enough to afford any kind of protection. And his hands were bound, of course.

Now some of the nights events started to come back to him. He had charged forward, disregarding his own safety. He remembered fighting with the corsair captain…someone must have struck him from behind…Nothing concrete after that. Vague images of a nightmare flickered through his mind but he pushed them aside. For an instant he could have sworn he saw…no. No, he hadn't. It was ridiculous.

"Are you awake yet?"

The harsh voice that sounded behind him startled Aragorn considerably. With an effort, he kept himself from jumping. Taking a deep breath, the former ranger rolled over, careful to keep his face blank. He tried not to think to hard about what he might be rolling in. The smell that rose from the hay as he moved was truly atrocious.

Iron bars slightly obstructed his view, but he could see the aged pirate captain quite plainly through them. The man was leaning against them in fact, his single dark eye riveted on Aragorn's prone form.

A full minute of silence stretched between the two men. The former ranger's silver orbs slowly passed over the corsair. An uneasiness was building in the back of his mind. There was something not right. Asides from the fact that he was bound and helpless. No, though his current predicament was not one he would have hope for, it was not what was worrying him most. There was something very dark clinging to this older man. Something at once palpable, yet indefinable. Something that lurked, almost hidden behind his craftily gleaming eye.

Aragorn was surprised to see the hard beaten face crease into a hard smile. There was no mirth in the pirate's expression, but rather…satisfaction.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" The question was suddenly put, the tone almost friendly.

Aragorn closed his eyes, concentrating. That voice. He had heard that voice before. He knew it.

"Strider…"

"Strider."

The silver eyes snapped open again, thought shattered. The corsair's smile widened. "That was your name once, wasn't it? Though now you go by another. Thorongil. Tell me, is this now your true name, or another title that you hide behind?"

Aragorn remained silent. There was nothing else he could do.

"I think, however, that I will continue to call you Strider. After all, it was the name that I first learned to connect with your face. The name I repeated to myself over almost thirty years. The name that I learned to hate."

This was not going anywhere good.

"However, it would seem that you have been graced with some skill beyond the reach of most mortals."

Aragorn did not care for the direction this one sided dialogue was taking. The corsair was straying too far towards the truth of his heritage.

"You see, Strider," the corsair squatted down, bringing his face down so that Aragorn did not have to strain his neck looking up. "This," he touched the wrinkles of skin on his cheeks, "This is what happens to most people in nearly thirty years." The corsair straightened, swung the door of the cell wide and strode in. He gazed down at the Gondorian dispassionately. "Yet the years seem to have flown by and left you as unscathed as the elves that were your companions when last our paths crossed." Again, he knelt, and one rough hand reached out to touch Aragorn's face. "Not completely unscathed. There are lines here, but they are of the kind that are etched with labour and experience…not always pleasant experience." The voice changed subtly, becoming less friendly and more biting. "Unpleasant experiences are something that I know all about, Strider. I went through many of them when I parted from your elf friend." The hand that had been touching Aragorn's skin withdrew and stroked the scar that traced it's way down the pirate's cheek. "It was he who took my eye. Did he tell you that?"

Horror broke over Aragorn with with a dawning realization. The face of his nightmares appeared once more, but it did not fade. It changed, the hair becoming white instead of dark…lines of age and hard living slowly traced their way across the already weather beaten skin…

Legolas had taken the eye. Legolas had created the scar that ran across the nightmare.

"Halith…" The sound was barely a whisper that forced itself between his lips.

"You do remember me! Ah, I am glad." The mirthless smile twisted even more, baring yellowed teeth.

Aragorn felt ill. Yes. He remembered Halith. He remembered Halith very well. Years had gone by and he had not been able to forget the man that stood before him. Almost thirty years. A shudder coursed through his body as though he had been touched by an iron brand. Too well he remembered the piercing pain of the cruel wands that this man had placed in his flesh.

"Now, Strider, I have some questions that I should like to have answered." Halith settled himself into the hay, disregarding the unwholesome odor that suggested this was an unwise course of action.

Ah, Eru. A distraction of some kind, please. For the love of the Valar…Aragorn's mind was swamped with horror. It had been years and he had not been able to rid himself of the nightmares that followed his memory of this man. Betrayal and days of torment…torture that surpassed anything he had ever experienced before or since. "What do you wish, traitor?" He asked through clenched teeth.

"You still haven't forgiven me for that then?" The pirate's voice was amused.

"Have I had reason to do so?"

Halith shrugged. "Perhaps not. How did you come to Gondor, Strider? What long paths led your wandering feet here?"

"Paths that had nothing that would interest you. Therefore I will not bore you with a recitation of my deeds." The question made Aragorn uneasy, though he could not say why.

"Ah, that is where you are wrong." A curious gleam was kindled in the corsair's eye. "I am very curious to all of your doings since last we parted. For my part, I believed you dead, and I did not grieve. I knew then that Daeion had plucked a flaming branch from the fire. Unfortunately for him, the fire spread and he was consumed by his own foolishness. I warned him against you, but he did not heed me."

"It is well for me that he did not heed you. Had he taken your advice, I would not have survived until my…until the elves came for me." Aragorn quickly clamped his lips together, berating himself. He had almost let slip the word 'brothers'. Though he could not pinpoint the reason, he knew instinctively that giving away too much information to so deadly a foe could very well prove disastrous. Before, Halith had been eager to kill him without questions. What had changed? Why did he desire conversation now? "And what of you?" The former ranger let his tone become scathing. "How did you happen upon your current employment? And what new master has control of your leash? Another man as Daeion?"

He had meant the questions to antogonize Halith, perhaps make him angry enough to forget his line of interrogation. Strangely, the elder man seemed amused. He chuckled softly to himself even as he gazed at his captive. "Daeion?" he shook his white head gently. "No, Strider. No. My master is far greater than Daeion could have ever hoped to become. Far greater." A shadow seemed to pass over the older man's face, and for a moment, Aragorn was startled to see a spark of fear in the pirate's eye. "And far more terrible," he added, almost to himself. "A master that knows not the pain of human flesh and has endured ages…ages and ages of this world…" Halith's voice trailed off, and Aragorn could see plainly the fear that marked the man.

The Gondorian captain felt himself freeze. For a moment, Halith was not attending to him, caught up in musings of his own. Aragorn swallowed hard. He had known, or course, that the corsairs of Umbar were involved in trade with the black land. Rage had seized him whenever he thought of the Gondorians that had been spirited away to supply Mordor with slaves. But to receive open aknowledgment of that fact, when he was in his current position… Sweat broke out coldly on his brow. He had known of the power that lay in Mordor stirrings. He knew that Sauron sought to build his power to its former height…but apparently, the dark lord was moving faster than he had anticipated. He had contact with the corsairs. The pirates knew of him, and were helping him. Things were being done in his name, and not the name of an underling.

He had grown stronger. Much stronger if he dared so much.

"But that is not what I wish to discuss, Strider." Halith's eye was once more focused on the former ranger. Aragorn hid his uneasiness, forcing his face to become blank. The pirate's mouth twisted into half a smile, as if he guessed what was running through his captive's mind. "You were once one of the Rangers that rode through the North, or so you told me many years ago. Obviously, you have switched from one service to another, but that does not concern me. I wish to know more of the Rangers that you rode with."

Alarm bells went off with such a deafening cacaphony within Aragorn's head, he wondered at Halith's being unable to hear it. His smile was wintry cold when he answered his foe, his eyes chips of silver ice. "You tried to extract information from me once before." His gaze lingered pointedly on the scar running from Halith's forehead to jaw. "It did not go well for you."

Halith met the icy gaze, but could not hold it. The pirate casually drew a dagger, and focused his attention on the blade, as though that was where he had meant his dark eye to turn all along. "That is neither the here nor the now, Strider. That was nearly thirty years ago, and things have changed. For instance, I am no longer under the command of a weak master. You will tell me what I wish to know…or you will discuss it with Him." An appalling silence lingered in the air of the cell, as though drawn by thought the pirate's dark master had forced some of his presence through space to join them.

Aragorn felt a moment's worth of abject terror. Every dark tale he had ever heard of the evil that flowed through Mordor's black land crowded to the forefront of his brain. To be given into the hands of Sauron…to have one's soul and life stripped away, as he had done for the Nine. Only Aragorn knew that his fate would be far worse. If he were taken by force to the dark Lord's throne, his identity would be revealed and the power of Mordor would gloat. He would become a servant of the wraiths to torment. Like them, yet weaker, and meaner, and even less of a spirit. Something for Sauron to laugh at and gloat over. The hope of men, caught forever in his power.

Hope.

Estel.

Halith drew back unconsciously as Aragorn gazed upon him coldly. The pirate thought for an instant he had seen fear in the younger man's eyes, but it was no more. Strength lay there. Majestic and noble he looked, though he lay in the refuse of the world. His bearing was that of a king, not a captain. Steel flashed in the silver eyes.

"Speak no more of things that you cannot grasp," Aragorn ground between clenched teeth. He was angry, and in his wrath, he appeared more than ever a lord rather than a footsoldier. "Leave me, spawn of filth. Go back to thy rag tag crew and tell them what lies thou have already wound around their hearts. Speak thee of victory?" A harsh laugh fell from the Gondorian's lips. "It has been taken from thy hands! And where is the prize thou sought to give thy master? You have nothing, and are nothing. Though I perish, Gondor will hound thee until thy ship breaks itself to pieces. The winds that thou thought would be thy freedom will take thy body and fling it to the seas! Go! Leave me in peace and hound me not with thy serpent's tongue!"

Stumbling to his feet, Halith turned and fled the cell, sending the lantern flying as he went, forgetting for the moment that he was the captor, and this man his captive. His feet carried him up from the stench and away to his cabin where he shut the door tightly and leaned against it trembling, his only thought to hide from the terrible brightness of the silver eyes.

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Aragorn blinked rapidly, seeing Halith take to his heels. The former ranger swallowed hard, trying not to think of what had just happened. He had touched the strength that he had long kept hidden from men. Even he was amazed at the results. However, strength of will did not affect hemp whatsoever. He was still bound, though, in his haste, Halith had left the cell door wide open.

Aragorn slowly rolled himself onto his back, then rose into a sitting position. Wincing, he scooted to the nearest wall and leaned against it, wincing as his injured shoulder came into contact with the rough wood. His head was swimming from the blow he had received earlier in the evening. The silver eyes scanned the tiny room quickly, looking for anything that could possibly aid in his escape. A rough piece of metal, a blade, sciccors perhaps? Aragorn's eyes lit on his discarded armour. Ah. A slight smile tugged at his bearded mouth. Perhaps the stuff was not quite so useless after all…

Grunting, Gondor's captain slowly scootched himself acroos the floor until he lay within reach of the pile of gleaming metal. There was a rough edge across the breastplate. Many was the time he had cursed that edge as it dug into bare skin, but now how he blessed it! He reached forward eagerly and slowly started to rub the hemp strands up and down.

A stinging, burning sensation was building in the back of the former ranger's throat, and though he tried to ignore it, he swiftly found that this was an impossibility. Aragorn coughed, choked, and tried to breathe deeply, but was foiled. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, clogging his lungs. What was happening? Casting a glance over his shoulder, Aragorn froze.

The lantern that Halith had brought down into the brig had been knocked aside when the pirate fled. The glass had shattered, and the flame burned cheerfully amidst a pile of hay. As of yet, the dampness had kept the flame from spreading overly quickly. It just created quite a lot of smoke. However, Aragorn could see that this would not be the case for much longer. The flames would spread, and he would be consumed.

That, he thought sourly as he choked again, or I will die from breathing the smoke. The Gondorian tore wildly at the ropes, wincing as rough metal bit through flesh as well as hemp. Ignoring the pain, he kept on. His life was certainly worth more than a few patches of skin! Smoke irritated his eyes, and tears poured down his cheeks. He could't breath…he was going to pass out soon…

With a snap, the last strand parted. Aragorn ripped the ropes from his wrists and staggered to his feet. The Gondorian captain clutched at the wall as he nearly fell to his knees once more. The smoke was making him lightheaded. With a half choked snarl, he pushed himself towards the door. The flames were growing now, taking a better hold on the dampened straw. Aragorn paused for a moment, his foot lifted, thinking to stamp out the blaze. But he did not. Let the ship burn. Even if he did not escape, neither would any of this last group of corsairs.

Covering his nose and mouth with his hand, Aragorn ran for the stairs.

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The dark haired man burst onto the main deck into a scene of complete chaos. Groggy from the smoke he had inhaled, it was several moments before Aragorn could truly grasp what was happening. The corsairs were diving from the ship, hoping against hope that they would be able to swim away, keeping their lives. Others were making a stand, but their grim expressions showed that they had no hope of survival…

The Gondorians were attacking. Aragorn felt his heart leap. Instead of sorting through the mess at the corsairs home, his men had followed this last ship, pursuing their enemies to the end. Their ship had come alongside the corsairs, and moonlight shone from the helms and breastplates of Gondorian soldiers. Hail after hail of arrows descended on the unfortunate pirates. Some sought to return fire, but the arrows could not pierce the silver armour.

Aragorn grinned to himself. Finally something that could not penetrate the worthless metal.

On the Gondorian ship, Aragorn caught sight of the leader of his men. Anguion stood tall beneath the moonlight. The young man signalled to the line of soldiers, and the front dropped back, allowing others to step forward. They bent their bows and shot arrows high. The arrows rose into the night sky and fell like shooting stars…flames and all. Fire arrows thudded into the wooden deck and sails. The corsairs screamed and wailed in panic, beating at the flames. However, as soon as they extinguished the fires, more arrows poured in, and more on top of that…

Smoke pouring through the door behind Aragorn reminded him that the lower decks were also ablaze. Now, he decided, would be a wonderful time to leave. But how to make it to his men without being shot? He could dive into the water and swim, but there were many corsairs already following through with that plan, and Anguion was breaking groups of the soldiers off to deal with that particular problem. The pirates that took to the water had a better chance of escaping than those on the ship, but they were more likely to receive an arrow in the back than to make it safely to the shore.

Perhaps the direct method would be the best.

Aragorn charged towards the rail, desperately hoping that any soldier who caught sight of him would recognize him before they decided he made an excellent target. "Angion!"

The Gondorian captain saw his second in command start. The young man's eyes snapped to the deck of the corsair ship. He was searching…

Recognize me, Aragorn prayed desperately as he ran forward. Recognize me!

Anguion siezed hold of his ship's railing, his jaw dropping down to his chest. The young man's expression was one of horrifed realization. Aragorn found this strangely reassuring.

"Captain!" The young Gondorian turned to the soldiers and bellowed something Aragorn could not hear. Immediately, arrows ceased to fly in his direction. The former ranger felt a smile pull at his lips. Finally something was starting to go right. Now if he could just make it to the railing without being recognized by any of the corsairs, everything would be perfect.

A rough hand seized his shoulder. Aragorn groaned inwardly. Why was nothing perfect? The hand spun him around. Instead of resisting, Aragorn spun with the hand, using it's motion to add to his own. The Gondorian captain came around with his fist, putting all his weight behind the punch. He winced briefly as he connected with the pirate's jaw. The corsair blinked stupidly before collapsing to the deck. The whole incident took barely a moment, but it was enough. Another corsair leapt towards Aragorn. The former ranger ducked underneath the swinging blade, planting his fist into his opponent's gut. The man fell forward as an arm circled Aragorn's throat. He choked, feeling the arm tighten and cut off his flow of air. He was being forced to his knees. Stars were starting to appear in his vision. Both hands were clutching the arm that was slowly choking the life from him. Through hazy vision, Aragorn saw an arrow make a graceful arch from the Gondorian's ship and land directly in front of him, still flaming. Acting almost on instinct, he seized the burning shaft and, ripping it from the deck, shoved it back over his shoulder. There was a scream, and suddenly Aragorn had air. He fell forward onto his hands, crying out as his burnt hand connected with the deck. A few choice sindarin words passed his lips before he pushed himself to his feet. Silver eyes cast about grimly, but for the moment, it looked as if there were none to hinder him.

"You!"

Or so he thought.

Bits of flaming sail were starting to fall around his ears. The Gondorian captain glanced up sharply to see the entire rigging engulfed in flames. Within moments, the mast would come crashing down onto the deck, turning the ship into an inferno. He had to escape before that time.

"Strider!"

Aragorn knew who called him. He recognized the voice. His eyes were already darting across the deck, searching. There. Halith stood at the far side of the deck, white hair whipping around his face. Bitter rage was etched there. A naked blade gleamed in the fire's light. The pirate charged forward, his weapon raised.

The former ranger cast about looking for something, anything with which to defend himself. Swiftly, he snatched the curved blade from the nervless fingers of a corsair slain by one of the Gondorian arrows. He brought the weapon up just in time to meet that of Halith's. The blades met with a crash. Aragorn pushed mightily, throwing Halith back a step. The dark haired man quickly followed, swinging his sword in a low cutting arc hoping to catch his opponent off balance. Halith, however, recovered his balance with the assurance of a well trained and deadly swordsman. His weapon was there to meet Aragorn's. The elder man quickly followed his block by lashing out with a foot. He caught his opponents knee heavily. Aragorn cried out, falling to the deck. With an inarticulate cry of rage, Halith plunged forward with his blade. With a speed that belied his injured limb, Aragorn dove to the side and twisted to his feet, almost catlike. The corsair stumbled forward, thrown off by the unexpected absence of a target. Halith caught himself on the railing, turned, and dove towards Aragorn with a shriek. The former ranger could see the rage that glittered in Halith's single dark eye and knew with sudden clarity that the older man had nearly lost his hold on sanity. This fact, however, did not make him any less dangerous. The swords met once more. Oblivious of their surroundings, the two men battled up and down the deck, hearing only the sound of their blades. Aragorn spun as his enemy sought to skewer him, bringing his sword down sharply in a blow that rightly should have cost Halith his hand. The man moved quickly, considering his age. He escaped with a deep gash that cause him to cry out in pain. With a hiss, the corsair swiftly transferred his sword to his other hand. Aragorn attacked with single minded purpose. Visions rose in his mind, unbidden.

Legolas lay crumpled on the ground, a deep gash across his head, several ribs crushed by Halith's men. He was left to die.

Elladan and Elrohir carrying him from a place of darkness, ignoring their own injuries.

The cruel wands placed in his own flesh.

With a bellow, Aragorn renewed his attack. Halith fell back before him, a light of fear shining in his single eye…Aragorn was moving faster now, his blade flickering in the light of the flames, flashing with an almost inhuman speed and grace…

Halith felt the rails behind him. He had retreated to the side of the ship farthest from the attacking Gondorians and now there was nowhere to go. At the precise moment that he realized this, Aragorn's blade slipped through his defense.

Aragorn felt his weapon strike flesh. He felt it sink through Halith's body. He heard the corsair cry out in pain. Yet even as he withdrew his blade and saw the blood that dripped from it, he knew that he had not delivered a fatal blow. The Gondorian captain raised his arm to strike again… "Firn," he whispered, so softly Halith almost did not hear him. "Firn, Morgothion!"

A splintering crack echoed through the night air. Aragorn knew what was happening. He hesitated for a moment, then with a curse, threw down the sword and sprinted towards the far side of the ship. He did not look up, but he could feel the heat of the collapsing sails. Would he make it in time? Perhaps he had waited too long already. The ranger reached the railing and dove, all the while expecting to be engulfed in a net of blazing canvas. A spar cracked down across his back as he leapt, driving the wind from his lungs. He did not have a chance to regain it before his body hit the blood coloured water.

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Firn Morgothion!-Die son of Morgoth!

Okay, so...please let me know what you think...I SWEAR, that the next chapter will not take longer than a week to be posted. Thank you all for you patience and please oh please oh please review!