I'M REALLY PUMPED FOR THIS CHAPTER THO?

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You sleep until late in the morning to make up for the difficult nights on the plains. Breakfast is waiting for you in your tent. You devour it immediately, silently thanking whoever left it that there was no bread. You wash quickly to get rid of the grime of roughing it and then seek Elrond to hear his plan.

He is still in Theoden's tent, and this time Theoden is with him. You enter unobtrusively to give them time to wrap up any conversation.

"Lady Aniel!" Theoden perks upon seeing you. "My heart is glad to see you back unharmed - or, mostly unharmed."

"Oh, that's nothing. I'm glad to be back, thank you. Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. Lord Elrond was giving me counsel, and a fine counsel it has been."

Elrond says, "Now that you have joined us, there is something on my mind I must tell you both."

You lean on the table in attention.

"As you know, Gandalf took Saruman's Palantir from the ruins or Orthanc. After the incident with the Halfling, he left it for me

to take back to Rivendell. I intend to do so, but I believe we can presently make use of it."

"Use the Palantir?" you gasp. "But what will you use it for?"

"It is not I who will use it."

You stare at him, the implications of his statement slowly dawning on you. "You're not meaning...me?"

"I understand if you refuse. It is a dangerous task, and if you do not feel you can do it, I would not force you."

"But what could I even do? I'm not strong or powerful or wise. Wouldn't it just be playing right into Sauron's hands?"

"Sauron is seeking you because you know the outcome of this war. I would give him that exact information, at least as far as he's aware."

"Ah-huh. So you want me to lie right to Sauron's eye-face and hope he doesn't liquify my brain in return."

"Palantirs do not grant either party the ability to read minds. Sauron will know only the false information you give him. But as I said, if you do not think you can do it..."

You bite your lip. "If I did, what exactly would it accomplish?"

"If you feed Sauron the idea that he will be victorious, perhaps he will send less of his forces to get the job done. We are already outnumbered. Any break would potentially save hundreds of lives."

You put your head in your hands. Elrond has you there: you came on this quest to save lives. But to lie to the embodiment of evil? You'll have to put together a solid story of death and destruction for it to be passable. "Just...give me a minute to prepare," you say weakly.

"Are you absolutely sure? This is not a task to be taken on lightly."

"I'm sure. I'll do it."

Theoden lets out a breath of relief. "Thank you, my lady. This battle will be hard enough as it is. Any leniency you can give us is greatly appreciated."

You sit in a chair in front of the table while the preparations are made. Theoden tells the guard outside not to let anyone in. Elrond sets the onxy sphere in front of you, careful not to touch it himself. You regard it apprehensively. You've always had a vivid imagination, but now it would be put to the ultimate test.

Very slowly, you rest your palms on the Palantir. Instantly the world around you disintegrates, leaving you floating in a black void. You look into the nothingness, more with your mind than with your eyes, searching for the connection.

A voice echoes through the darkness. It rings in your ears in Black Speak, but somehow you can understand it: "Who dares to command the Seeing-Stone?"

You almost reply defiantly, but catch yourself - it's supposed to be doom and gloom, not a battle of the wills. You quickly relive your capture by the orcs and conveniently leave out the part where you murdered them all.

"You are the Elf-Witch who knows the future?"

"I am."

"Show me."

You resist here; you don't want to make it too easy to obtain the information so he won't suspect a trick. A superheated wind hits your skin in retaliation. You flinch away from it, but your fingers are still glued to the Palantir. The intensity of the heat rises steadily until it is liquid fire. You hold out as long as possible before breaking and releasing the false memories.

Minas Tirith burns, its formerly white marble blackened by ash and smeared with blood. Corpses of Men lie in a thick layer on the fields of Pelennor; orcs trample them on their way to the broken city - much less of them than would be needed to do so. Rohan's "demise" is next and just as graphic. One by one the last safe havens of Middle Earth fall: Rivendell, Lorien, and the Shire. You lay the destruction on thick, but you don't think it's too much. The montage of ruin is topped off by a vision of the One Ring on Sauron's armored finger.

"Your world will burn. There is no escape. Death will come to all."

You confirm this with a few more images of gratuitous orc violence before mentally shrinking away. He does not force you back, so you assume he's satisfied. With a might wrench, you rip your hands off the Palantir, and suddenly you're back in the tent.

"Aniel! Can you hear me?"

You blink hazily up into Elrond's concerned face. You feel cold and clammy and weak. Theoden quickly helps you drink some water. You run your fingers up your arm and find it unscathed; Sauron's torture was purely mental.

"I think I did it," you mumble, surprised to be able to say it. You briefly recount some of the scenes you fed Sauron.

"Will it work?" Theoden asks Elrond. "Will their numbers be lessened?"

"Only time will tell, but it sounds like Aniel showed him exactly what he'd been hoping to see. You did perfectly, Aniel."

"Thanks. I think I'm gonna throw up."

You're put on mandatory bed rest for the rest of the day. You don't mind in the slightest. The conversation took more out of you than expected, and you'd been prepared for something pretty bad. You find little rest, however, as your dreams are filled with shadows and that stupid Eye. You finally give up on sleeping and decide to send that letter Gimli had suggested the previous night.

Dearest,

I'm fine. I don't know what Gimli told you - and Mahal help him that he told you anything - but I'm back with Rohan and alive and well. I'm sorry for worrying you. It was a misadventure that was mostly my own fault, but I won't bother with details. Just know that everything is okay and I'm not missing any limbs. I love you always and look foward to seeing you soon.

Aniel

It's good enough. You sneak out of your tent and eventually find a bird to take the letter. It's an annoying enough task that you mutter to yourself about texting and don't even feel anxious about doing so.

All the bad dreams have made you hungry, so as twilight falls, you search for some food while making sure to avoid Theoden and Elrond. Eowyn is the one you do run into, and she's just as firm even without knowing of your most recent escapade.

"We were worried," she tells you sternly, filling a bowl of soup for you. "Where did you go?"

"On a walk that led to getting taken by orcs and dragged two days to Mordor," you answer easily.

"And you're on your own two feet! You must truly be a warrior to be reckoned with."

"I really can't take that complient," you laugh. "It was less than twenty and I killed them in their sleep."

"Clever, then," she amends. "Regardless, I'm glad you're back. I do believe you promised we would fight together."

"I did! It will be before the walls of Minas Tirith where you ascend into legend, my lady."

"Legend," she snorts, but smiles.

The galloping hooves of an incoming horse draws your attention. Theoden is there to greet the stranger. You also rise and take several apprehensive steps forward; no one else is supposed to arrive at Dunharrow.

"Where is she?" says a voice that instantly makes your mouth go dry and your heart pound.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Theoden says rather coldly.

You stumble forward and call hoarsely, "Thorin?"

The silhouetted figure darts past Theoden and into the light of a large fire. You only take half a second to ensure it's him before running into arms that close like a trap around you.